


Inter Spem et Metum

by JC71883



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:31:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 227,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JC71883/pseuds/JC71883
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz. 

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

_**Caramel colored straps had dug** into his flesh during the entire time he had been chained to that bed. They had engulfed both his wrists almost to the point of hurting but feelings like that had not registered within him in a very long time. Oz had taken his humanity and any feeling had been a luxury he no longer had been able to afford the high price of. Oz had taken away his will to live on many separate occasions. There had been no redemption here and nothing left of him. Oz had seeped into his skin and had defiled his blood and fucked with his head for far too long. It had been a vicious cycle that would keep rotating until God had found no more wicked amusement in it. In him._

_The air had settled back into its antiseptic normalcy in the hospital ward of the Oswald State Correctional Facility. Another attempt had been made on his life as Miguel Alvarez had been bolted to the bed. He had been completely defenseless and would have taken his last breath in this room had it not been for that hack Howell subduing Carlos Martinez. It had to be someone from the outside. They had no respect for him; wanted to bend and break him. El Norte had wanted him gone. El Cid had wanted him a memory._

_All had been quiet but Alvarez’s mind had been too revved up with new thoughts and unattainable yearnings to calm down. The newly concocted plan had to work. There had been no escaping Oz. That hack Howell had completely taken her eyes away from them and was talking, most likely flirting, with another officer. Alvarez had kept his eyes busy, bouncing them across every inch of the infirmary until he had seen the familiar sight of Busmalis cautio usly approaching. A sly smile had appeared behind his lips of the old man as straps had been loosened to give his wrists the chance of breathing---the chance at life again. Eyes had glared at the exits before they had found themselves glued to the unnaturalness on the floor of the janitor’s closet._

_The darkness of night---the freedom of light…_

 

**The announcement over** the televisions in the quad of Emerald City erupted in a huge stream of boos and applause. The inmate population was divided upon what they were hearing. Miguel Alvarez, a fugitive on the run for six whole months, had been captured and would be returning to Oz. He was captured trying to cross the Arizona border into Mexico of all places. The newscast had since moved on but there was still laughter among some and unresolved rage among others.

A dark shadow passed across his eyes when Chico Guerra said, “Alvarez is coming back.”

“So?” Morales answere d back.

“That motherfucker tried to kill me.”

“Yeah---only because you tried to kill him. Or did I get the story wrong?” Morales gazed over at him as if expecting an explanation, but nothing came. “You let it go, Chico.”

Enrique Morales slightly exerted his power as the leader of El Norte and told him to drop his feud with the wayward loco Latino that had once been leader. That had once been his friend. Guerra scoffed and looked away as Morales focused his attention back to the TV. He wasn’t going to let shit go. Alvarez would pay for coming back here.

With a clear view of the leader of El Norte and his lapdog from the checkered table, Ryan O’Reily watched without being obvious, as he always did. His eyes had been trained from long ago to not give anything away and that was partly how he had been able to survive in this inferno of hell for so long. Tensions between the Latinos could be used to his advantage, as he was determined to sta y as many steps ahead of all the scumbags in here as possible. Sometimes it was just too easy. He watched as his younger brother Cyril played with the long blonde strands of his hair while sitting across from him at the table and a jolt of regret pierced through his well-built armor.

 

**Metal bars clanked** and shook open and drowned out most of the voices but the ones inside his head. Processing came into view and Alvarez just stood there waiting for a tongue-lashing he knew the warden had prepared especially for him. He was back home---only it was no place like home. Only a few moments had passed outside his mind before Warden Leo Glynn entered the same space as him and approached. A look of disgust and elation hung at the edge of his mouth.

“How you doing, Glynn? You miss me?” his tone dripped with satire and poison.

“No.”

“Yeah, well---I almost made it. Almost made it into Mexico.”

“We would have found you there,” Glynn was in no mood for his games.

“I don’t think so. You know, I would have made my way to Guatemala, Nicaragua, Columbia, go up the Andes through Chile, until I hit this little spot called ‘Tierra del Fuego’. You know about Tierra del Fuego?” Alvarez said as he continued to play the game in his mind.

“It’s the end of the Earth.”

“That’s right. You would’ve gone that far to capture me? The end of the Earth?”

Glynn held his cold stare and said, “Probably not.”

“Next time.”

“Take him to Solitary.”

The warden’s lips pursed with a sense of satisfaction as Alvarez was led away into the black void of his mind. The place still had the rotted stench of hopelessness and crushed humanity. His heart started to beat faster as he walked the all-too-well known path back to Solitary. All the voices had escaped him for the moment and thoughts were emptied from his head. Like someone had cracked it open with a hammer and left him there for everything to drain out. The silent loneliness was bound to overtake him again. Alvarez’s face was set in stone when he passed through the gates into Solitary Confinement.

“What’s up, man?” Allah’s voice traveled to his ear from his open slot in the heavy metal door.

The Latino stopped and stared at the man briefly before being shoved forward and asked, “Who’s that?”

“What’s it matter?” the officer did not care to answer his question.

“Just like to know the quality of criminal I’m neighboring with.”

“He’s a wank job---just like you.”

Alvarez was pushed into the small cell and had his handcuffs removed before the metal door sealed him away from the living world. Hairs stood up on his arms and the back of his neck as he fell to the floor and pushed himself to the closest corner he could find. Sweat formed on his face and under his arms as he pressed his knees tightly into his ch est and remained huddled in the corner like a wounded animal. Voices had not come back and the silence was deafening. The Latino closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his knees as his arms tightly held him in a ball. The walls wanted to close in and suffocate him. He knew that.

“Fuck,” he muttered in a shaken voice. “Oh, fuck.”

 

**Ryan O’Reily was** inside the other man’s head, but it was merely for the fun and amusement of it. He had always did that when things dragged on in Oz. And, it was prison---so most days tended to be monotonous and uninteresting. Keller was looking at him; his interest in the conversation had suddenly jumped. The Irishman contained his smile---a good player never gave away his face.

“Wait a minute---wait a minute. You fucked Howell?” Keller had that look in his eyes signifying his interest in the conversation’s turn.

“Mm-hmm,” was all he could muster to say.

In the quad, the routine of everyday life continued where some watched TV, others played cards or board games, or simply stayed in their pods to read or sleep. O’Reily was deep in thought thinking about how to stay ahead. He occasionally glanced over to see his younger brother Cyril watching TV and as calm as ever. _Dammit! Cyril._ Chris Keller glared at him from across the table, obviously wanting details of his acknowledgement. He wanted the perverse details---the horny bastard.

“You don’t just drop a nugget like that without a few details, O’Reily.”

The manipulative Irishman casually replied, “We had sex maybe five times in the ladies toilet off the interview room. Then she got weird---”

“What do you mean weird?” Keller’s eyes focused in more. “Weird like possessive weird?”

“Yeah. So when McManus came back and took over Em City and shipped her off to Unit J, I was, to say the least, relieved. I haven’t seen much of her since.”

“M y esteem for you has risen sixty-nine percent but tell me, as one manipulative turd to another, now did you fuck Howell for the sex, or to get her to do some other kind of nasty?”

O’Reily’s eyes gleamed over at the question but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared and, “Just the sex. Check.”

“Fuck.”

Keller needed to know nothing about his relationship with Howell. That manipulative bastard probably thought he was the best at mind-fucking in this hellhole but he was wrong. His ego got in the way far too much for him to be considered on the same level as O’Reily. The way he hung on his every word about Howell. There wasn’t much detail given but his eyes were salivating like a damn dog in heat. O’Reily was not sure if Keller was getting off on him getting pussy or something else but he did not care. He was no fag and he had caught the sick fuck staring at him a little too long at times---mainly when he and Beecher had yet another one of their lovers’ spats.

He could and had mind-fucked Keller in the past. It was not as easy a task as with most the other idiots in here but the rewards had always been well worth it. He knew that if Keller was anything like him then he did not have a trustworthy bone in his body and that was a valuable asset here in Oz. The utter irony. He pushed for more information but the Irishman stopped the subject and remained in thought. Keller was a good ally to have but was unstable---especially where Beecher was concerned. O'Reily was about to head to his pod when he heard someone call him out.

“O’Reily, come with me,” officer Mineo stopped him and ordered.

“What? Where the fuck to?”

“Field trip. Get your ass moving now.”

Eyes looked on momentarily before dispersing and he remained quiet and followed the correctional officer out of Em City. A quick look back to Bob Rebadow guaranteed that Cyril would be looked after and the loud buzz saw ed through their ears as the iron gate pulled back. O’Reily walked without purpose or not knowing who had summoned him. His mind was in thought as the officer kept him moving forward. The hallways were quiet but other footsteps were heard coming towards them. He looked at Howell in a split second after she emerged from the shadows.

“Don’t you be winking at me!” she yelled out as if she had been violated.

“What?” his voice was surprised.

“Claire---” Mineo tried to diffuse the situation.

“The fucking bastard’s winking at me! Take him to the hole!” Howell shrieked like the evil banshee she was.

“That’s bullshit!” O’Reily called her on her melodramatics.

“Take him to the hole,” she ordered again.

He looked over at the only sane officer in his present company, “Mineo---”

“Joe---” the banshee squealed.

“All right, all right. But you’re filling out the paperwork,” the officer grabb ed him by the arms and said.

“Mineo,” he said but Howell had managed to win this battle. “What? Fucking dyke!”

O’Reily fought and fought back but it was no use. That bitch had set him up and there wasn’t a thing he could do but take the fall. He saw the grin on her face and knew this was not over. Officer Mineo pushed him throughout Oz until he ended up in that dreaded place. A place where neither day not night existed. A little box of a room tucked away in the deepest corner of Tartarus. He felt clothes being stripped away and his body examined before being tossed into the pits of despair.

“Fuck! Fuck that fucking cunt!” the naked Irishman screamed out at the very tip of his lungs as he pounded on the door for them to let him out. “Fucking bitch! Lying piece of shit!”

His throat felt like it was about to be ripped open raw; he had to regain control of his emotions in this cold and desolate room. The light hanging from the center o f the room eerily swung back and forth like some type of twisted pendulum. It was cold and goose bumps covered O’Reily’s arms and the back of his neck. _That bitch is going to pay for this!_ He kicked the nasty bucket away from him, wondering how any people had used it before him. His dick and balls felt like it wanted to crawl back into his body because of how cold the air and the floor were. There was no escaping. O’Reily slumped back against the wall opposite from the door and spread both his legs there as he waited. His hands were at his side and his head slightly tilted as he waited for the door to open.

There was no sense of time in the hole. No sense of time flowing in the God forsaken box. His mind was too raveled up to think about much of anything. Cyril crossed his mind. He would be a handful for Rebadow and Busmalis to handle were he provoked. They had to escape this prison. Make their own freedom like Alvarez had. But the fucking Latino had to screw it up by getting his ass caught. _Fucking Alvarez! You were the hope in this cesspool._ O’Reily’s eyes inhaled light from its artificial source when he looked up as he heard the door across from him open. He jumped up but it was not for what he thought.

“Ryan. Did you miss me?” the loathsome Howell had the door close behind her and began to invade his personal space.

“Oh, Christ.”

“Oh, and you’re already naked and ready to go,” she snarled while edging even closer. “You think of everything.”

“Fuck you, you ugly cunt. Stay the fuck away from me,” O’Reily started to watch his step.

“Now now---is that any way to talk to your lover?”

“Back the fuck off! I ain’t your lover,” he tried to avoid her but the room was only so big.

“What’s the matter, baby? I’m not good enough for you anymore? You want to suck cock now? Bend over and get it in the ass?”

“Fuck you, dyke! I’m no fucking fag!”

“Then come prove it to me, big boy,” Howell goaded him into getting what she wanted from him.

He had to keep his emotions in check---this was still a game after all and he was not going to let someone as stupid as Claire Howell manipulate and get the better of him. He was the one that always did the mind-fucking---and the beauty of that was most of his subjects never had a clue they were being mind-fucked until it was too late. Or, they were just dumb as stones and never figured it out. Maybe Keller had some insight into his thought processes, but it was not enough to make him a worthy adversary. O’Reily loved spur of the moment plans and this one was going to fall into place just as a line of stacked dominos would. He knew just what to do to bait the insatiable hack.

“Claire---you love me don’t you?” he asked coolly, starting to use her own feelings for him against her.

“You know I do, baby,” she was inches away from h is face now.

“Enough to do anything I ask?”

“Again? Stanislofsky wasn’t enough, sweetheart?”

The Irishman grinned at his past manipulation to get that asshole out of his way, but said, “No---nothing like that.”

“What is it, O’Reily? Spit it out. I don’t have all day in here.”

“I’ll fuck you---but you have to let me out of here today. You and I both know I wasn’t winking at you in the hallway,” O’Reily planted the seed in her brain that would eventually bloom.

“And if I refuse?” the ugly hack was even closer to his lips now when she asked.

“You won’t,” he said as he grabbed her ass in between her uniform pants and groped her. “You want this. That’s why you put me here in the first place. Deal?”

“I’ll draw up the paperwork after we’re done.”

She lunged forward and kissed him passionately as if she actually loved him. But he knew better though. There was no such thing a s love in Oz. Only fucking and manipulating. And Ryan O’Reily had an expert touch at both. Tongues and teeth scraped and wrestled together while her hands explored his naked body pressed against the wall. Realizing the position he was in, O’Reily flipped them around so that the devil hack was cornered. A hand darted out and squeezed his package while her other was busily undoing her uniform pants. He closed his eyes because this was the only way it was going to work. _Think of Gloria._

Howell was on her knees soon and wasted no time in putting his dick into her mouth. Only then did it start growing---as thoughts of having Gloria like this filled him. Having her on her knees pleasuring him while he had a fistful of her hair and her eyes looking up at him like he was the only one who mattered to her. O’Reily had to keep his eyes closed to continue with the fantasy. She sloppily sucked and used her teeth to graze against the blood-engorged head to create a pleasurable pain. _Oh, Gloria. That’s it. Suck your man!_ Howell finished fiddling with her belt and slid down her pants as much as she could, considering she was on her knees. O’Reily’s hips began to push against her face as he started fucking her mouth.

“Oh yeah---that’s it,” he drummed out.

Howell removed her mouth from his throbbing meat and stood up to say, “Enough of that. Fuck me good, stud. Fuck me so hard that it’ll make me want to go deliver your paperwork myself.”

“I’m counting on that---”

O’Reily flipped her back and pressed her body harder against the wall as he readied himself to enter her pussy from behind. Her face and clothed breasts were stuck to the hole wall as she arched her back and waited for him. _Gloria. Gloria. Offer yourself to me. Just like that._ He grabbed himself at the hilt and steadied his dick before he entered her warm cavern. There was no fucking in Oz. Everyone knew that.

Now the crafty Irishman just had to get her off and he would be out of this place. It didn’t matter if he himself got off because Claire Howell hadn’t been able to properly get him off in a while. The first few times they had hooked up, it was new and exciting and he had a lot of sexual frustration to take out on her. She had soaked it all up like a sponge. But then he started to realize what a twisted bitch she was and the sex wasn’t enough to keep him satisfied. Sure, he came every time they fucked, but it was always empty and hollow. Getting off just for the sake of getting off. O’Reily was bored with her but better to have a pussy to fuck than his right hand.

“That’s right, Claire,” he spoke to her as he slammed into her.

“Uh-huh---yeah. Give it to me. Fuck me---fuck me good!” the shrill voice of the banshee was returning.

His hips moved at the speed of lightning, jerking back and forth because he knew she liked it fast and rough. She woul d get off soon and hopefully leave him the hell alone until he came up with a plan to take care of her. The warm friction between their raw bodies started to feel good but O’Reily knew it would feel so much better if Gloria was the one he had bouncing off his dick. Or even Shannon---his ex-wife he never understood why he married. Maybe he loved her at one time. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone. Or to have someone look after Cyril. O’Reily grabbed one of her clothed breasts as she was blissfully moaning and enjoying the ride.

“Come on! Come on---pump me!” her cries irritated him.

“Nope. It’s your turn. I’m not going to do all the work.”

The sneaky hack turned back and grinned at him before she started moving her body back onto his---fucking herself on his dick. She rubbed and grinded against him as he felt quivers on her skin. She was in the middle of an orgasm and O’Reily thanked God it would be over soon. If a prisoner were missing for this long, there would have been a nationwide search already in progress. The correctional officers sure had each other’s backs---whether right or wrong. Howell was moaning as she thrust herself into him, hitting another explosion inside. O’Reily felt a surge of his own and knew it was going to be over soon. He pressed his hand against the wall slightly past her head for support while she continued to work him like a jackrabbit.

“Fuck me baby! Harder! Fuck---harder,” Howell yelled out as she sped up her movements.

“Shit!” he stammered out quickly. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

O’Reily quickly reached one of his hands to grab his dick and pull it out of her. Just as he did this, cum shot from his tender dickhead and landed on Howell’s thigh, but mostly on the ground between them. He stroked himself as the sticky hot liquid spurted out and dripped to the hole’s floor. His body shook and he closed his eyes to quickly regain himself and continue wit h his plan to get the hell out of here. She had what she wanted---she was at least satisfied for the time being. Now that hack had to stick to her end of the deal.

“Damn! That was some good sex, O’Reily. Almost as good as when we were first married,” Claire Howell mercilessly teased him as she pulled up her pants and adjusted her uniform accordingly.

“Fuck you! Get me out of here,” the Irishman reminds her of their arrangement.

“Hold you horses! Always so cranky after sex. It’s supposed to be soothing.”

She winked and smacked him on the butt before pounding on the door for one of her fellow officers to come and let her out. She said nothing else and he was left alone to wonder if she would double cross him. Either way, O’Reily had to get her off his back. She was eating up too much of his time and he didn’t want to deal with her possessive ways anymore. Maybe he would pawn her off on some poor sap. She liked big dicks so it would h ave to be someone with his endowment or more. _What the fuck? It’s not like I can go around this place checking out dick sizes so they can audition for that cunt!_ He had to laugh at where his mind just led him. And then, the loneliness seeped in like a toxic gas from the walls.

 

**The kitchen was** busy with its usual bustle as lunchtime coming up. Pancamo and the other Italians kept the place running as he sat on his false throne of power as if it actually meant something. They would stupidly never learn--- power was the problem in Oz. Omar White was loading food trays into its carrier for the rounds to be made. He was mumbling something to himself but it was mostly harmless. One of the dagos yelled at him from the food cage to get a move on and he just ignored it.

A sneaking voice came from behind him as he was preparing a tray and asked, “You put something in Alvarez’s food?”

“Like what?” he turned to see Chico Guerra lazy fa ce.

“I don’t know, rat poison or something. Look, the point is, you need to kill him, Omar,” Guerra carried on with his plan. “I’ll see you get all the fucking tits you need. Huh---what do you say?”

“No.”

“No? Why no?” he asked as if he deserved an answer.

“I just can’t put my finger on it,” White continued to work and talk without eying Guerra. “I don’t know if it’s the way you look, or your smell, your breath, the way you talk. I don’t know what---you know, it’s just something about you just rubs me the wrong way.”

“Yeah? Well, fuck you, nigger.”

White finally looked up at that and Guerra had no time to react before feeling a sharp pain enter the side of his abdomen. Blood gushed out against his shirt and the implanted knife as other members of the kitchen took notice of what had happened. Omar yelled and talked rapidly and annoyingly as Guerra fell to the floor with his blood lining the tiles. S uddenly, there was a swarm of curse words and laughter and panic until the officers subdued him to the ground with a headlock. Other officers were keeping the crowd under control while two officers helped Guerra up and out of the kitchen.

“Fuck you, nigger! Fuck you!” the bleeding Latino scrambled to finish the fight but was kept under control by the officers dragging him out and to the medical ward. “This ain’t over!”

“Let me see McManus! Let me see McManus!” White was shouting. “McManus!”

Omar was trembling like a leaf as he stared at his bloody hands. The hacks took him away as inmates continued to snicker and talk. He knew Solitary was the only place they had in mind and he was still shouting and demanding to see McManus to plead for his fate. They escorted him through winding hallways until he would be caged in all by himself. McManus was going to come for him. He’d explain what happened in the kitchen and the unit manager would tak e pity on him. He calmed himself down by the time they reached Solitary.

“You back?” Supreme Allah asked, surprised.

“Uh-huh,” was the reply.

“Fuck, nigga---that got to be some kind of record or something,” Allah laughed as he looked on.

“You Alvarez?” White questioned as he passed the Latino’s metal door.

“Yeah,” he looked as he was being addressed.

“You owe me, dawg.”

“Inside!” the officer barked.

Alvarez wondered what the hell that meant and figured he would get answers once the newest member of Solitary had settled himself in. Again. Being on the outside for six months, he didn’t know a lot of these people. He and Supreme Allah had talked but that was still a new face to him. Alvarez was sure none of them could be trusted so he mainly kept to himself and only spoke when he was spoken to. The voices in his head kept him enough company and even up at night. He would sometimes see the image of h is baby boy that God wanted back. He was too perfect for this world and that was why God had to take him back. He selfishly wanted Alvarez’s son all to himself.

Night was the worst time to be in Solitary. The quietness hounded at his mind like a pack of vicious wolves on a carcass. His body wanted him to cry when he was pressed up against that corner but no tears ever came. They had all dried up apparently. The small room was getting to Alvarez---as it had every time he had been locked away like this. Like it had gotten to his grandfather before him. _Abuelo._ Claustrophobia set into his mind and had caused him to return to that same corner and huddle in the same position. A light layer of sweat doused his skin and his eyes were intently focused everywhere---rarely even blinking. Oz even managed to take away his involuntary muscle functions. _Have to get out of here---_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**Alvarez had gotten word out** early that morning so he just had to wait to see if the bait would be taken. It was a desperate long shot but he was quickly running out of options on how to escape confinement. The voices would turn against him as they did before. It was only a matter of time before he was hanging from a sheet clasped tightly around his neck again. Maybe it would stick this time. His eyes ached and were red from his torment last night. This place was going to be the end of him if he did not find a way to get out. A ruckus caught his ears and the Latino knew this was his moment.

“Hey, yo, Glynn. My shower don’t work, man. I’m fucking stink in here, man. Come on, man,” Allah hassled the man that had come there for him.

White tried pitifully to get his attention with, “Warden, I got, I got some big news. You got to hear me out, Warden. I got serious 411 here. Warden! Warden, you got to let me out. I got to talk to you, in here.”

Warden Glynn approached his cell and looked through the pushed back metal slot and asked, “You wanted to see me?”

“I got a proposition,” Alvarez kept the beginning of a smile at bay.

“You patted him down?”

“Yes, sir,” Officer Smith promptly said.

Eyes were still locked onto one another’s but neither showed anything to the other. No signs of anything. Guard was something that could never be compromised in Oz. Broken guard meant certain death or the ultimate admittance of weakness. Therefore, the inmates and correctional staff alike all wore masks to keep their guard up. Glynn had known this better than anyone had. The door swung open and he stepped inside.

“Close the door---but stay close,” the warden instructed.

“All right,” the officer did what he was told and the two of them were left alone.

“What?”

Alvarez had to play this smooth because he would only ever get one chance to convince Glynn to help him. He had to remain focused if he wanted to get himself back. Solitary slowly stole fragments of his mind and he had to get out of here to recover them before they were lost to him forever. The voices could not be kept at bay for too long. No matter how hard he had to repress them in the past, they always manifested themselves eventually.

“I know me and you had some bad shit between us, right?” he paused but he did not know why because he was not expecting an answer. “And I know you’re planning on keeping me in Solitary for the rest of my life. See, but I can’t be in Solitary for the rest of my life, because I’ll be a fucking zombie. Especially after being on the outside again, you know?”

“Get to the point.”

“Put me back in Em City---and in return, I’ll be your eyes and I’ll be your ears.”

“An informant?” Glynn’s face showed nothing.

“And your loyalty to El Norte?”

“Fuck them! It was fucking Hernandez who tried to get me killed---put me in this fucking shithole,” a flash of anger jolted in his eyes but the Latino knew he had to control it here.

“Alvarez, you are in this shithole because you are the lowest form of animal life. Do you understand me?” his face showed contempt.

“So---your answer is no?”

“My answer’s yes. You’re also the perfect snitch.”

 

**The nasty names** and boos flung at him as the heavy metal door opened once again for him to make his exit from the horrid place. Eyes were on him from the rest of the Solitary prisoners but he didn’t care. Alvarez had struck a deal with Glynn and it worked because he was leaving the loneliness behind. He was not going to be a zombie. A fucking animated corpse. Now to get back all he had lost---and to see what had changed in Em City since his untimely departure---which felt like a lifetime ago now. Oz only took time.

He passed a window on the way back to Emerald City and was disappointed to see it had been raining. It was only a quick look but, outside the prison, the weather seemed bleak. Nothing was going to get him down from being released though. Allah had told him about Hernandez’s death so Em City was already infinitely better for him. Alvarez knew he did not want to lead El Norte again. Not when his own, like Guerra, were gunning for him. Even though El Cid was gone, it was still dangerous and he had to watch his back always. _Shit!_ The gates clanked open to let them in and all eyes and words were suddenly about him. The prisoners laughed and ridiculed him upon his entering.

“You got busted going into Mexico? What, are you stupid or what, Alvarez?” O’Reily said in passing.

_Fucking mick!_

“Spic and span, Alvarez,” Hoyt looked over from where he was sitting and laughed.

Another prisoner yelled out, “Bring me back some pussy, man?”

The scumbags had their fun messing with him. When he had left here, he never thought he would see any of them again so the joke was on him. Getting caught and returning here---he would never live it down. That did not matter to him, though. Alvarez had to smile and laugh because he was out of Solitary and among people again. Whether they were jerkoffs or assholes, he didn’t care. And maybe his being recaptured put him at the bottom of the heap but that didn’t matter either. The loco Latino was determined to stay out of Solitary. He put his belongings down in his new home and watched as the officer walked away, leaving him alone. He had business to tend to so he went to the computer room.

“Miguel Alvarez. I was wondering when you’d come see me,” Enrique Morales focused his eyes on him as he sat on the throne of El Norte.

“You know, a lot’s happened since I escaped. Hernandez is dead,” he had to say it to make it real.

“And that makes you feel how?”

“Happy. I hated that fucking cocksucker.”

“Honesty,” Morales cracked a small smile but it was soon broken. “I like honesty. But I hear sometimes you’re too honest.”

“Look man, I don’t give a fuck. You in charge now. That’s all you, man. I just want back in. Tell me what I have to do.”

He was not sure if it sounded as genuine as he wanted it to be. It was going to be the same shit for him no matter who ran El Norte. But, with that being said, he needed some type of artillery because going it alone in Oz was a surefire way of getting killed. He remembered his first day in Oz and getting stabbed while waiting to be processed. It was an embarrassment to him. A failure of sorts.

Morales kept his eyes on him and got up from the computer to head back out into the quad. It was obvious Alvarez was to follow the lead so he did. He needed some type of backup---someone watching his back. Groups played far too important a role in Em City. There had been no opportunities left and the Latino knew he needed the alliance and influence of El Norte behind him. No matter the shit he knew Morales and the other members were going to give him. He needed them more than they needed him.

“You see that man over there---Burr Redding?” Morales drilled holes across the room with his eyes as he targeted the man.

“Yeah.”

“Kill him.”

Morales easily walked away without another word. It definitely was the same shit. He had to blind Rivera to prove himself to El Cid but that motherfucker still wanted him dead. Now he had to kill some nigger he didn’t know to get into the good graces of Morales. Alvarez had to prove his loyalty to get back into the gang. Only then would information be shared with him and he had to be Glynn’s eyes and ears. That did not mean he was going to remain loyal to the warden, though. If all his time at Oz had thought him anything, it was that loyalty to himself was the only option. _Trust only yourself._

He returned to his pod without Redding paying any attention to him and relaxed. He had to come up with a plan to get himself out of killing Redding, but something as complicated as that required strategy and finesse, and making elaborate plans was not one of Alvarez’s specializations. But, he had no one to turn to and Morales would want results soon. Putting down Redding would certainly mean a lifetime of solitary confinement. He wanted a lollipop to suck on---the sugar had always put him in a better mood. _Cherry._ He thought about the sweet treat until he could no longer bear it.

 

**O’Reily had his** mind busy in the kitchen thinking about the meeting today in the cafeteria. Dr. Nathan had explained that the Weigert Corporation wanted to test an aging pill on the inmates and most were excited about it regardless of the side effects of taking them. He wanted both himself and Cyril to be selected, but found out that lifers were not allowed to take part in the study. The Irishman fought like a threatened snake to get both his and his brother’s name on the list, but still was not sure if it would happen.

The kitchen was empty, as lunch had already been served, so he and a few others had to clean it up in preparation for dinner. He wanted another chance to talk to Gloria to convince her of putting them on the list. Even after everything he did to her, she still seemed sympathetic towards him and Cyril. Killing Preston Nathan was a mistake and O’Reily knew that. He had to find a way to make it up to Cyril---that was what big brothers did. This aging pill was the solution for them both.

“Oh, Jesus!” he jumped and dropped a few trays on the table as Howell squeezed his ass hard.

“Hey, stud. These kitchen whites you’re wearing are so sexy. I just love a man in uniform,” the hack said as she kissed him.

O’Reily pulled away and looked around quickly before he said a bit aggressively, “Look, not here---not now!”

“What? You got a headache?” she mocked.

“I told you, we can’t be doing this anymore. It’s fucking crazy.”

“And I told you, it’s up to me when we stop.”

“I could go to the warden,” he played an empty threat.

Howell laughed and said, “That’d sure stop me from fucking you. Of course, then I’d have to find someone else---someone as handsome as you.”

“Cunt.”

“Hey, I know. What about your brother, Cyril?” she said with an evil sneer in her revelation.

O’Reily glared at her and conceded, “All right.”

_No fucking way you’re touching Cyril, bitch! I’d take you out myself before that happened._

“Today you’re going to play the little Dutch boy who stuck his finger in the dyke.”

She was seriously starting to become a problem for him---and threatening Cyril like that showed how perverse and sick she truly was. He had the mind of a fucking five-year-old. He needed to make a move but had to hold back just in the slim chance he and Cyril got the chance to participate in the aging pill study. O’Reily was not going to let the hack ruin their chances of being chosen. The kitchen had almost been deserted now as Howell dragged him in into the food cage and licked her lips. Her hands erotically rubbed in between each of her thighs. She was performing for him.

 

**Ryan O’Reily had** begged her that night to let him and his brother be a part of the study. He pleaded with her to make them old so that they could escape from Oz. Gloria had those soft look in her eyes as he was in her office trying to find a way for him and Cyril to leave this place behind. She started to tell him no but then agreed to talk to McManus. The guy had never liked him from the beginning. It was going to be a battle, but that was in the past now.

“Five of you will be given the drug. Five of you will be given a harmless placebo. Once a week, you’ll receive another dosage and another complete physical examination in order to monitor your health and the progress of your aging. Are there any questions?” Dr. Nathan spoke to the group of ten men, whom were in their boxers in the infirmary. “Let’s go.”

O’Reily was the first to grab the small cup with the pills and was given a cup with water from a passing hack. He was not sure if it was the aging pills or placebos but he trusted Gloria. She had gotten them both into the study after all. He looked at her and their eyes briefly met before he swallowed down the pills and followed it with some water. Dr. Nathan moved next to him and in front of Cyril.

“Take it, Cyril,” he sensed his brother’s apprehensiveness and said.

“I don’t like the medicine,” the long-haired blonde whined.

“Come on, take it.”

Following his big brother’s lead and gentle pushing, Cyril took the pills and drank some water afterwards. O’Reily looked on and smiled as he gave his brother a small hug. This could very well be their ticket out of here, but he never held his breath. Being the type of person he was, he knew not to expect anything until it was done and officially announced to the world. That was where he differed from Keller. He did not spend much time relying on chance or unfinished plans before the desired results had been achieved. Keller sometimes counted his chickens before they hatched and that was dangerous---especially here.

And, he had to admit that when a plan needed that extra component for it to fall into place, he had his trusted Irish luck and charm. O’Reily had mastered it from a very young age and had used it mainly in grade school to get girls to like him. His first kiss was in the first grade behind a tree on the PE field. That natural charisma had won over Shannon in high school. And, it was his luck, in part, that had kept him alive here in Oz. None of these other scumbags had what he had---was able to accomplish the things he did. Keller was definitely in over his head.

In Em City, he sat at the checkers table with Cyril, Rebadow, and Beecher---with the latter two playing a lazy game of checkers. It had been an uneventful day all around with the only highlight being them taking the aging medication earlier in the day. The afternoon was dragging along with some news program occupying the televisions. O’Reily looked around to see nothing out of the ordinary. Redding was talking to Poet and Hill in Hill’s pod, Pancamo continued to gamble through cards upstairs, and Said had seemed to accept Tidd with Arif at his side.

On the other side of the quad was Miguel Alvarez sitting alone in his pod, apparently writing something in a notebook. O’Reily gazed at him and wondered what was up with the loco Latino. He had been mellow and flying completely under the radar, which certainly was not a bad thing, since coming out of Solitary. He barely hung out with El Norte and mostly kept to himself. Morales and his crew were nowhere to be found in the quad from what his earlier sweep of the place had revealed. Curiosity got the better of him.

“Hey, Cyril---stay here with Rebadow and Beecher, all right? Don’t move,” he told his brother as he got up.

“Where are you going, Ryan?” Cyril asked in his childlike way.

“Got business to take care of.”

“With Alvarez?” Beecher said because he had noticed him looking earlier. “What kind of business do you have with him?”

O’Reily smirked and said, “New business, beach ball. Don’t worry yourself with my affairs. Watch Cyril for me.”

Beecher was not going to get straight answers from him asking pointed questions like that. Sometimes O’Reily could not help to think that he was a lost cause. The crazy bit after he had fucked over Schillinger was mainly working for him though, so it hardly mattered. He had bigger things to worry about than him or Keller. The Irishman headed up the stairs and gave a smirk to Pancamo, who just shrugged him off, and went over to the end pod on the opposite side of the wops. A light tap of the glass and Alvarez noticed him and raised two fingers to signify his entrance. The notebook rested next to him on the bed.

“Hey there, Alvarez,” he greeted once the door was closed behind him.

“What do you want, O’Reily? I don’t have time for you or your games,” the Latino’s tone was firm but not dismissive.

“Just wondering why I haven’t seen you around as much since you got back from Solitary.”

His laugh was fake and he said, “Why would you care? We got nothing to say to each other.”

“Maybe---maybe not. So---any plans on how you’re going to off Redding yet?” O’Reily said, knowing he had to show part of his hand to keep the conversation alive.

With the reflexes of a panther, Alvarez jumped off from the top bunk and pushed him against the cold glass of the pod, his forearm applying dangerous pressure onto the Irishman’s windpipe as he held him in place. Fiery brown eyes encountered flaring green ones. A hint of fear passed through O’Reily but his face remained oblivious to it. He never dropped his mask in front of anyone---except for Cyril when he had needed a comforting big brother. Those times were when even shit like this did not matter in Oz.

This was the Alvarez he knew from before. The unpredictable and dangerous one that had demanded respect. He knew the mick was notorious for playing games and pulling strings, but hiding out in the open like this and making such a stupid move was not like him. Or maybe it was his plan. O’Reily only ever made calculated moves---even if he got roughed up because of them. Alvarez knew he could easily overpower the other man and force him out of his pod but, more than that, he wanted answers. And he was going to get them.

“What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Easy---easy. Calm down,” he tried to diffuse the angry Latino because he knew he could not overwhelm him physically.

“What the fuck did you say? That’s El Norte business. What’s your fucking angle, mick?”

“Alvarez---you’re going to have to let me go now.”

“Oh yeah? Who says, mick? What the fuck are you up to?”

O’Reily felt more pressure on his throat and said, “Okay---okay. I’ll tell you, but you have to back off.”

“Don’t try shit, motherfucker. I’m warning you,” he said with his forearm still firmly clamped into place against raw skin.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Now---can you ease up on my throat?” O’Reily’s voice sounded hoarse and water crept up behind his eyes but he still had the situation under his control.

Alvarez connected their eyes together one last time---as if he was searching for something, and then slowly backed away with all his senses remaining heightened. O’Reily coughed and immediately hated himself for doing so. He was not weak. The loco Latino had surprised him and there had been moments when he thought that he had lost control of the situation. Those doubts quickly dissolved though because here was not the time or place to analyze them.

“Talk. How do you know about El Norte business?”

“I overheard Guerra talking some other Latinos in the gym the other day,” it was actually the truth coming from his lips, and it tasted awful.

“Why approach me about it then? Why not go to Morales?”

“Fuck Morales! Do you even know why he wants Redding gone?” O’Reily continued to thread.

“He and Pancamo don’t want to cut him a slice of the tit trade. With Adebisi taking his dirt nap, more profits for them. Not so hard to figure out.”

“But why do you have to prove yourself again? You did everything that cocksucker Hernandez asked and he still treated you like shit. Like an outcast from the Latinos. You fucking blinded that hack Rivera for him and he still wanted you dead.”

“Where the fuck are you going with all this, O’Reily?” Alvarez wanted to know because he was not in the mood to take a trip down memory lane---and certainly not with Ryan O’Reily.

“When I overheard Guerra talking, he said you don’t have the cojones to rub out Redding.”

“Fuck him. Chico don’t concern me no more.”

The Irishman paused briefly and wondered how far he wanted to go with this, and then said, “Chico’s concerned about you though, hermano.”

“And you care now---is that it? I can take care of myself,” Alvarez was quickly becoming bored with the conversation and his guest. “And I ain’t your fucking hermano---so don’t call me that shit.”

“So why’d you go back to El Norte?”

The question was the same one he had asked himself more than a few times already. Morales did not seem to be as cruel and heartless towards him as Hernandez had been but he was still expendable in the eyes of the El Norte leader. O’Reily was definitely playing at something here for him to keep talking for so long but it had not made itself clear yet. Even under the threat of his life, the bastard kept his cool and never revealed his true intentions. Alvarez had to admire that about him. But, this was no damned congeniality contest. He had to figure him out---figure out what he wanted.

“None of your fucking business. You’re not the only one in here who knows how to play games.”

“Morales set you up to fail, Alvarez. There’s no way you can come close to touching Redding---not with the way he rallied the homeboys the first day he got here,” O’Reily said and was playing it extremely close to the vest.

“You don’t know what I can do, mick.”

“I never underestimated you---from the first time you stepped in Oz.”

“What’s that---flattery? You a fan?” he asked and almost wanted to laugh.

“No, Alvarez. Watch your back. Morales will start treating you the same way Hernandez did. Deep down, he knows you don’t belong in El Norte. You may be a Latino like him, but you’re not worth his time or effort---not like his lapdog Guerra.”

“Man, fuck Guerra. I told you I’m not dealing with his bullshit vendetta anymore. ”

“Watch him. Watch all of them,” the Irishman said and decided to play his ace. “You know Omar White?”

“Who?” Alvarez asked as he watched him.

“The nigger that’s down in Solitary. Came back in after you were already in there.”

“Always shaking and talking fast like some damn crackhead?”

“Yeah. Why you think he got sent back there?” O’Reily gazed at him, knowing he was trying to fit the pieces together in his mind.

“Don’t know. Got caught sucking McManus’s dick?”

“Try stabbing Guerra.”

“He stabbed Guerra? Why? I knew he had been stabbed but Morales said he didn’t know anything about it.”

Suddenly, it was starting to make sense. Upon returning to Solitary, White had asked for him by name and had said that he had owed him. It made no sense, however, that someone he did not even know stabbed Guerra for him---especially since he himself did not sent out any word that he wanted to put down the lapdog. Alvarez glanced over at O’Reily with a slightly confused look on his face. All the pieces were there but he was not able to figure out how to connect them. The Irishman, sensing this, spoke up.

“Morales lied. He wasn’t out to get you while you were in Solitary, but Guerra was.”

“So, White stabbed him for me?” the Latino scratched his head lightly at that.

“In so many words, yes. Guerra propositioned him in the kitchen to put rat poison in your food, but White refused. He stabbed Guerra after he called him a ‘nigger’. So he technically did it for himself, but you became a beneficiary.”

The sound of air sucking stole the moment away as officer Murphy leaned into the pod and said, “All right, gentleman---break it up. Don’t you have somewhere else to be, O’Reily?”

“Shit---all right, Murphy,” he obliged the officer but quickly looked back at Alvarez to lighten the mood. “And damn man, you should have volunteered to be a part of the aging drug experiment. At least then my neck wouldn’t hurt this bad.”

“What---and ruin this handsome fucking face and perfect body? Fuck no!” the Latino grinned as the door closed behind the two men and left him alone again.

So he had owed Omar White for refusing to poison his food. That was, if he believed O’Reily in the first place. That manipulative bastard never offered up truthful information unless it benefitted him in some way. Maybe Morales was testing him through the Irishman. The Latinos and Irish had worked together in the past and there weren’t any direct confrontations that bonded them as enemies. For the most part, they remained on neutral grounds with one another. O’Reily had to know that if this information got back to El Norte, his neck would be on the line too. It was a risky play on his part.

Alvarez was unsure of what to believe but there were too many coincidences in the Irishman’s conversation for it all to be lies. Morales had to have known how and why Guerra was stabbed. He was the fucking leader of El Norte after all---and one of his men had been shanked. Guerra was unable to keep his mouth from running. _Stupid fuck!_ He hopped back onto the top bunk and retrieved his notebook to continue writing, letting the entire conversation resonate inside his head. 

He needed to hear from Maritza. He had only been able to see her once when he had escaped because of the risk involved. It was torture. She needed to know he was all right. From his pod, he could see out onto the quad below. Ryan O’Reily was sitting at a table with his brother and Rebadow. His eyes lifted and both pairs met. Something was definitely going on in that mind of his and Alvarez wished he knew what it was. He would kill to know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**The warden’s office was anything** but inviting to Miguel Alvarez. He remembered all the bad memories the room held him against him. With the whole rape debacle and Glynn taking all his frustrations out on him, the Latino was weary of the office. He hated it. Their conversation had been put on pause because of an interrupting phone call. Alvarez looked around and waited for Glynn to be finished with him. The phone clicked down within a few minutes.

“You told me if I let you out of Solitary, you’d snitch on the other prisoners---by my informant. Well, you haven’t told me anything I don’t already know,” Warden Glynn said, and began to reconsider his arrangement.

The Latino had to play the game carefully, but he was backed into a corner and said, “Morales won’t let be back into El Norte unless I kill Redding.”

“Then you’re fucked, Alvarez, and no use to me. Hell, I might as well send you back to Solitary right now.”

“Wait a second. He tells me to grease somebody, right? That’s conspiracy, man,” he knew he was grasping at straws but going back to confinement was going to kill him.

Glynn’s voice was determined when he said, “I convict Morales on a conspiracy charge, so what? He’s still in Oz---still running drugs.”

“Give me a couple days. I’ll try to figure out some other way to get into his good graces. Just a couple of fucking days.”

He was up the creek and without a paddle in his damn hands. The warden was not going to remain patient for much longer unless he got some sound information and Morales wanted Redding dead already. Alvarez sat in the waiting area outside Glynn’s office for an officer to escort him back with his mind fully wrapped up in everything he was in. He had to fucking prove himself to that asshole Morales. It was El Cid all over again and he was quickly running out of options. Again.

His last conversation with O’Reily started to make more sense the more he thought about it. The mick may have had another angle he was working, but practically everything he said that day in the pod was the truth. That was not his style and it made Alvarez even more defensive and agitated. There were a couple of looks after but nothing serious and no more conversations since. Almost like the Irishman was giving him time to digest it all---or feel out for the truth. Again, not his known style of manipulation. Alvarez had to be careful dealing with him---he was prepared to strike at any moment. O’Reily was a fucking snake. _Víbora venenosa._

In the quad, he had to put his conversation with the Irishman away because, as far as he knew, they were to only two who knew what it was about. O’Reily played his cards closer to his chest than he did so Alvarez assumed the conversation had not been brought up again. And Morales could stay in the dark for all he cared. He wasn’t letting him in on anything and figured it best to play dumb for now. Men like Morales got off on the power they thought they had, but always failed to realize that it was just an illusion. He would be taken out eventually---like El Cid before him. But, no matter what, the loco Latino always came out alive. He saw Morales in the classroom and went to him.

“Miguel, Miguel---where you been?” he asked as if he owned him.

“I was kissing the warden’s ass,” Alvarez had to try a plan he came up with.

“That’s funny.”

“Not as funny as you think. You know he wants me to rat on you. Says if I don’t give him inside info on drugs and shit---”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’ll be going back to Solitary again,” the words burned his tongue. “So I’ve been thinking, you know, maybe I could be like a double agent, right? I just give him the information that you want him to have, you know?”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Morales said, condescendingly.

“Think so?”

“Except for the fact that there ain’t no information I want Glynn to have.”

“Misinformation.”

“You tell him stuff that turns out not to be true, how long’s he going to trust you? No, my friend, if I were you, and I’m glad I’m not, I’d prepare myself for the inevitable---spending the next fifty years all by your lonesome.”

Morales got up to look down at him and resisted the urge to laugh in his face. A sick smile hung from his lips though---he did a poor job of hiding that. The walls were closing in on him, with every outlet he tried to take ending up as a dead end. Alvarez remained in the classroom to think about his next move. He was not good at coming up with moves---not like the víbora. He thought himself above the average inmate of Oz in terms of planning strategy and moves, but he was not on Ryan O’Reily’s level of mind-fucking malevolence. The mick had the gift of never getting his hands bloody but always getting what he needed from this place.

Alvarez left the classroom and thought about returning to his pod but instead climbed down the stairs to the quad. Many were about their routine lives but again, Morales and the El Norte crew were nowhere around. Cyril was strangely watching TV without his brother being near him. It was a rare site indeed to see the O’Reily brothers separated but there was not much cause for surprise. The mick was in his pod and his eyes glanced over to his brother from time to time. Alvarez walked over to the glass and gave a half smile. He was beckoned inside.

“Why’d you approach me?” the Latino went right into it because time was not on his side.

“You came here, Alvarez,” O’Reily said matter-of-factly. “Come to finish off my windpipe?”

“I meant the other day---in my pod.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Cut the shit, mick,” Alvarez said as he was losing his patience.

“Fuck you!” he barked out. “And stop calling me that shit. I haven’t called you hermano.”

“You just did.”

“What the hell do you want, Alvarez?”

“You want something from me---what is it?”

He knew he was right because of the way the Irishman remained quiet---he had already read him. He may not have been good at formulating strategic and muddled plans to keep his name out of people’s mouths or his hands clear of blood, but he was good at reading people. He had read O’Reily that day in his pod and now he read him here. Alvarez knew something was going on and he had to figure it out before he made his next move. Especially if it was going to be against Burr Redding like Morales had ordered him to. The Latino may have been a little loco, but he was not going to go on some suicide mission---and definitely not for the likes of that bastard Morales.

“Shit. I don’t want dick from you, herm---” the Irishman started but stopped himself.

“You and Morales plotting against me---to take me out?”

“If I wanted you gone---you’d be gone.”

“You give yourself too much credit, papa,” Alvarez said with a small smile.

“And you give me too little. Can’t I just give a warning without being accused of working a fucking angle? What about ‘good deed for the day’ and all that shit?” O’Reily was unsure of what he was rambling about.

“’O’Reily’ and ‘good’ should never be used in the same sentence.”

“You’re funny. Tell me---you got a plan to grease Redding yet?”

“Morales asked you to keep tabs on me---make sure I do the deed? And here I thought you were more than someone’s lapdog, O’Reily.”

Alvarez had to provoke him enough to get straight answers out of him. Otherwise, they would be dancing around in circles and there was no time for that. The mick knew something---he always fucking knew something. He was always a wealth of information and everyone in the prison system knew that. Squeezing information out of him was something entirely different, though. Glynn and Morales were both on his back and both wanted him in Solitary and out of the way. Now he had Ryan O’Reily and his games to deal with and not to mention Guerra with his crumbled rat poison plan.

“Ay, fuck you, hermano! I’m nobody’s goddamn lapdog!” O’Reily said back and was a bit upset by the comment and its insinuation.

_Goddamn spic!_

“I fucking told you about that shit,” the Latino slyly approached his face and said.

“Get the hell out of here, Alvarez. You’re wasting my time,” he looked past the other man and out to the quad to see if Cyril was all right.

“I’m not going to be your fucking project, O’Reily. I’m not going to let you manipulate me---you got that? Not going to let you control me,” their faces were still close together with intensity guarding each pair of eyes.

The Irishman stepped back and said, “I wasn’t aware I could. Control you, that is. Especially since Morales doesn’t seem to be able to---and Hernandez never could.”

“You’re not them. I know you, fucker. You get off on that shit---controlling people and their movements like you’re playing some demonic game of chess or something.”

“A compliment was somewhere in there, right?” O’Reily smiled but kept his cool.

“Fuck you! Stay out of my business---El Norte business!”

“Was never in El Norte business, amigo.”

“Yeah---like you’re never in anyone else’s business. Fucking Ryan O’Reily is a saint in this goddamn joint.”

“If the halo fits,” the Irishman said and knew their conversation was over.

“Look---I don’t have a problem with you if you don’t have a problem with me. Stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. And don’t try to move me like one of your chess pieces,” Alvarez emphasized the last part clearly because he was not going to be manipulated in any way. “I ain’t your piece and I ain’t interested in your games. Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Alvarez, sir,” his tone was mocking but more funny than anything else.

“Funny. Damn víbora venenosa.”

O’Reily looked at him, not knowing what the words meant but he had already walked out of the pod and was back in the quad. He thought he knew all the Spanish curse words but that one was completely new to him. And, it probably was only his imagination, but the way Alvarez had said it did not make it seem like he was cursing at all. He obviously knew it was not something positive, but it did not have the air the other Spanish curses demanded. The Irishman brushed it off and went back into his mind.

Alvarez was running out of time and ways to keep himself from solitary confinement. The conversation with the mick was mostly a bust, seeing as he did not get much in the way of straight answers. _The fucker could doubletalk his way out of the deepest pits of hell._ He had to make a move because Morales wanted results. Quickly scanning the place, he noticed that the homeboys, with Redding, were in the laundry room so he headed there. The cold blade of a shank pressed against his hipbone made his skin tingle and twitch. He entered the laundry room.

“What’s up? What you want, Alvarez?” the fool Poet asked as if he thought he had power.

“I want to talk to your boss,” the Latino remained cold.

Redding eyed him over and replied in his husky voice, “We got no business with you.”

“Morales wants you dead, man.”

“That ain’t no headline,” the court jester spoke up again.

“He’s ordered me to do the deed.”

“I see,” Redding took more of an interest in the conversation.

“I don’t want to have to spill any more blood than I already done, man,” Alvarez placed his cards on the table.

“I still don’t see what it is you want,” Augustus Hill said.

“I want to help you take out Morales.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, son. Betraying your own skin,” he said and he was right---but there were nothing but dangerous games in Oz.

“Hey, they betrayed me first, man.”

“No doubt. But the trouble with getting into bed with a traitor is you never know when he might betray you. I appreciate your offer, but we’re going to have to decline,” Redding said firmly and dismissively.

“Decline,” the jackass just had to chime in.

He looked at their leader one last time---another avenue that was cut off by a dead end. There were so few left now. Alvarez needed someone at his back he could trust and not have to worry about. Even though he was trying to get back into El Norte, he was alone in a place where forming groups was the key to survival. And if he ever made it back into the Latino gang, he was going to be alone because most of them wanted him dead or out of the gang. He left the laundry room behind to see one of the newer members of El Norte in front of him. The loco Latino never bothered to learn his name.

“What you talking to Redding for?” Vasquez asked as if he had clout.

“I asked to borrow some detergent,” Alvarez said, uninterested in the small fry.

“Yeah? Well, we haven’t forgotten that you shanked Carlo Ricardo.”

“So?”

“When Chico Guerra gets out of the hospital, he and me are going to fuck you up,” he said with a look of disgust in his face.

“Why wait until he gets out, chickenshit? Come on, baby. I ain’t got nothing, man. Nothing to lose---nothing to gain. Let’s do this.”

Vasquez lunged forward to punch him but Alvarez dodged him and punched him at the side of his abdomen---his fist came in contact with ribs. A hand easily slipped into his pants to reveal a shank. The unknown member of El Norte cried out in pain when his side was punctured again and again. Blood smeared everywhere as he fought for his life. Alvarez’s animal instincts took over and his body was high off adrenaline. He felt alive---the first time since being recaptured and sent back to this shithole.

“Yo, yo, yo!” Hoyt got the attention of some hacks.

A correctional officer ran in and attempted to subdue Alvarez but was not mindful of his surroundings and was stabbed as well. The crowd of prisoners were looking at him and yelling and cheering as if he was doing this for their entertainment. As if this was ancient Rome and he was a gladiator fighting for their amusement. The Latino had nothing left. This was not what he wanted to happen. Vasquez pleaded one last time for help before he died, and Alvarez saw the light leave his eyes. In his haze, another officer managed to get close enough to knock him out to the floor with his club. Blood mingled everywhere from Vasquez and the injured hack.

Back in Solitary and his soul was fragmented once more. One voice was in his head as he was curled up in that same corner trying to fight against his claustrophobia. Even the little window of the heavy metal door was slid shut. Alvarez could feel his sanity being threatened and pulled down by the ravages of madness. He slowly crawled on the floor over to the toilet and looked inside. It smelled horrid and he did not want to but he had to. The loco Latino stuck his hands out into the bowl to grab some shit that was there. There was no hesitation when he spread it around his hands and smeared it onto his face and arms. It was slightly warm. His brain pushed him further into his daze and he grabbed more shit from its source and began coating the walls and bars of the cell with it. The voice made him do it---had told him to do it.

 

**O’Reily stood side** by side with his brother and the other test subjects and waited for Dr. Nathan to examine them---examine if the drugs had started to affect their systems yet. He was in a foul mood but did not know the reason behind it. He had even snapped at Cyril earlier for asking him a simple question. The excitement of the morning had died down and he felt as if he had fallen into a black hole. He watched the fight as it took place---watched him only defending himself from that bottom feeder lowlife. Still, it was not enough to keep him in Em City.

The Irishman had to go back and rethink his plan---something he rarely had to do, if ever. Somewhere along the way, his plan had changed. It was only supposed to be for pleasure at first, and maybe to gain inside information, but the scumbags in the place were never going to leave him alone. They had never given him a moment of peace. He always had a target on his back and O’Reily understood all too well how that felt. 

He flew under the radar mostly---never craving power like the assholes that needed it for it to be their identity. Like Pancamo or Redding or Morales---or El Cid or Adebisi before them. And he was the same way too. They both had so many similar qualities that the original plan was starting to unravel. The plan had more than changed. It had crumbled to the ground and he was not sure how to feel about it. No plan of his had ever been destroyed this way. Changed, yes, but never destroyed. O’Reily needed to figure out what the hell those words meant. He needed to figure out what the fuck he was going to do. But he was banished back to Solitary.

“Let me ask you something,” he shook his head of the thoughts and concentrated on himself and Cyril. “This new drug that we’re testing, how long to we start feeling the effects?”

“Well, as I said before, it’s never been tested on humans, but the lab rats began to age in about three days,” Dr. Nathan gave her most professional opinion on the matter.

“If I get old and wrinkled, would you still love me?” O’Reily looked into her eyes but she avoided his.

“Next. Cyril, any complaints?”

“I have a tummy-ache,” Cyril whined as a little kid would.

“Come on, sit down,” Dr. Nathan led him to a hospital bed and fitted her stethoscope into her ears. “Okay, take a deep breath.”

They finished their examination but the hacks were eyeing him so he was unable to get close to Gloria---to talk to her after everything was done. And with the mood he was in, if someone said something to cross him, he was probably going to go off. He and Cyril walked away to be escorted back to Em City. This checkup was late in the day because lights out was approaching soon. Sleep would clear his mind---it always did. The two O’Reily brothers returned to their pod and waited for lights out. It came but he rested on the top bunk and watched out at the darkened quad as Cyril snored lightly below him. Light and shadows danced across his eyes and face as he thought. _Fucking spic!_

“Count!” Murphy shouted the next morning as all the lights came back on.

“Cyril, come on, let’s go. Come on, Cyril, get up,” O’Reily jumped down and was shaking his brother to wake him. “Holy mother of Christ!”

“Ryan, I don’t feel too good.”

His hair was turning gray---his skin was wrinkly and pale. He touched his brother’s face and then his hair to see if it was real. Cyril eyes looked worn and his body looked like it could barely move. Yesterday he was young and energetic but today, he was old and looking almost decrepit. O’Reily stared in shock until he ran out the pod to get any hack’s attention. Cyril needed to see Dr. Nathan right away and Murphy gave them the go. The pair rushed out of Em City to laughs and rude comments.

He watched as Dr. Nathan performed her tests and told one of her nurses, “Be right back.”

“Hey, so?” the worry was somewhere in his voice.

“He’s begun to age.”

“What about me?”

“Your body might metabolize slower, or you could be on the placebo,” she told him while looking through papers.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. The idea was for me and Cyril to go through this together. Remember, to get out of Oz together,” O’Reily thought their plans were clear from the beginning of the experiment. “Are you trying to tell me---he’s going to get old and I’m not?”

“Yes.”

“No, you stop giving him that drug,” he was adamant.

“No, I won’t. You both agreed to take it.”

“Well, now I’m unagreeing. Look, everything I’ve done has fucked up Cyril’s life. I’m not about to sit by and watch him disintegrate.”

“You signed an agreement,” Dr. Nathan said coldly.

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do.”

“Fuck you. Cyril, put your shirt on, we’re leaving.”

“No, we’re keeping Cyril here a few more hours for observation. Get him out of here.”

A hack came to take him back to Em City. He stared at Dr. Nathan the entire time---it felt as if she had betrayed him. She was not that kind of person, but it hurt him that she did not want to stop drugging Cyril. He shrugged the officer off him and walked back to Em City in silence---thinking again. He didn’t want to see Cyril like this. The drug experiment was a mistake. Gates pulled back and he entered the quad. Beecher called him up to the second floor and he complied.

“Okay, you see my brother’s hair?”

“Pretty bizarre,” Beecher said in his usual tone.

“This aging thing is out of whack, Beecher. You and me, we got to drop out. We got to talk to Robson and Kirk and the others and we got to get them to drop out, too,” O’Reily was saying but Beecher interrupted him with a laugh. “What?”

“This is just like you, O’Reily. I gave my word and as terrified as I am about the effects of the drug, I’m sticking with it.”

“Fine. I’ll talk to the others myself.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if that’s going to do much good. Mugs like Robson, Hoyt, and Wick, they’re used the playing Russian roulette with their lives. My guess is they’re going to laugh in your face.”

O’Reily angrily huffed off because he knew Beecher was right. Those men didn’t give a shit about their own lives, so it was a waste talking to them. He was antsy and was in an even worse mood than yesterday waiting for Cyril to get back from the hospital ward. He went to his pod and remained there to be in his own world. He had to figure a way out of this for Cyril. Yet another mess he made of his baby brother’s life.

Nightfall hit Em City and that Irish luck had struck for him once again so his mood had improved. Shortly after Cyril had returned from observation in the hospital ward, Wick had bled out right there in the middle of Em City. Blood had gushed out from his nose and mouth---he was dead. That had to stop the drug testing. Cyril was going to be spared from possibly suffering the same fate. O’Reily was still upset with Dr. Nathan, though---and he had no idea what to do about his situation with Alvarez. His mind focused more on the latter for some reason, but he was fresh out of plans. He would figure something out. It was what he did after all.

“Remember when we were little? Mama would sing to us,” Cyril said.

“Just try and sleep, Cyril,” his brother said from the top bunk.

“I can’t remember what song.”

“Move over,” O’Reily said as he got down from his bed, got into his brother’s, and then softly sang. “ _Over in Kilarney/Many years ago/Me mother sang a song to me/In tones so sweet and low/Just a simple little ditty/In her sweet old Irish way/ And I’d give the world if she could sing/That song to me this day/Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra/Too-ra-loo-ra-lie/Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra/Hush, now don’t you cry/Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra---_ ”

He had to sing the verse only a few times before Cyril dozed off to sleep. He kissed his brother on his forehead and easily slipped out of bed so as not to disturb him. O’Reily walked over to the door of the pod and put up both his hands on either side of its metal frame. He pressed his forehead against the glass and looked out at the darkened quad and all the blacked out pods. His eyes roamed everywhere they could see. 

Thoughts crept into his mind about how Alvarez was doing in Solitary. It was no secret he hated the place. None of the prisoners knew why though. Maybe it was a psychological thing. Maybe it had something to do with his grandfather. The Latino had asked in each conversation what O’Reily wanted from him. He didn’t have the heart to tell him he was mainly yanking his chain---playing with his mind for his own wicked amusement. But now, a more serious answer, and plan was churning inside his head.

“Víbora venenosa?” he did his best to annunciate the Spanish words as Alvarez had---it was still eating him because he hadn’t had time to look into what it meant.

Days past by without much incident and he was relieved to know that the aging pill experiment had been shut down due to Wick’s sudden death. Cyril was slowly starting to revert back to his normal self---well, what was considered normal for him anyway. O’Reily took a stab in the heart at that one and he remembered that night he sang his baby brother to sleep. They were just both happy that they did not have to be a part of the potentially deadly aging experiment anymore. 

He was in his pod with Keller after Supreme Allah had been released from Solitary. They had been sitting at a table in the quad talking shit when Allah had walked past them to be noticed and sat just a few tables away. O’Reily’s eyes had met with Keller’s because they both knew that Allah had wanted their attention---neither of them gave it to him though because it was the game. He had sat there and was talking to Redding but had glanced over at their table more than a few times during their entire conversation. It had been an intimidation tactic but neither O’Reily nor Keller seemed bothered by it.

“I’m telling you Supreme Allah knows we whacked Shemin and Browne and we pinned the murders on him,” Keller was surprisingly freaked out for the level of manipulator he was.

“How could he? I didn’t tell him, you didn’t tell him.”

“Hey, maybe he figured it out. Both of them were guys Beecher fucked.”

“So maybe he thinks you did it, but not me,” the Irishman said but he knew how it sounded.

“What, are you looking to hang me out to dry there, O’Reily?” Keller’s eyes narrowed in on him.

“No. Look, maybe I can go see Allah, figure out what he really knows. You can trust me, K-boy.”

“I got no other choice.”

Keller was in a corner and he knew it. Beecher was connected to Shemin and Browne and he was connected to Beecher. He was more implicated in the crimes than O’Reily was and Keller knew betrayal was always a possibility. The Irishman had the upper hand on him now so he was forced to trust him and go along with what he said. He left the pod with that psychotic look he sometimes got but O’Reily did not care. Keller was letting his game face slip.

Ryan O’Reily decided to go to the computer room a few hours after his talk with Keller to look up the meaning of the words. It was gnawing at him and when he thought of it, he thought of the Latino---and when, if ever, his plan would ever get off the ground. The spic had to get out of Solitary before they could get off the ground, though. Sitting down in front of a screen, O’Reily grabbed the mouse to get started but the computer shut down on him. He smacked the back of the monitor as Supreme Allah walked in. Their eyes never met.

“Fuck! Such an idiot. Hey, Supreme, old pal,” O’Reily looked as the man sat two computers away, but still eyes never connected. “This thing is crashing every time I try to boot it up. Can you take a look at it for me?”

“No,” was the short answer.

“No? What, do you got PMS or something?”

“You know, I sat in Solitary plenty of hours, O’Reily,” Allah said and finally looked in his direction. “Had time to put two and two together. Shemin and Browne plus Keller and O’Reily equals me almost on death row.”

“Hm. Well, you added wrong there, cuz,” he kept his game face on.

“Well, addition was never my best subject. Always favored subtraction. Let me see, Oz minus Keller and O’Reily equals justice.”

Allah turned back to his computer, which was working, and said nothing else. The look on his face said revenge though and O’Reily had to come up with a plan quick. He was not in the mood to look up Alvarez’s Spanish words anymore, not that he would want Allah or anyone else knowing what he was looking up anyway, so he pushed his chair back and left. He entered the quad and saw Keller coming off a phone call in the phone room so he entered. Redding was on the next phone over but now was not the time for eavesdropping.

“I’m telling you, we got to do something and fast,” O’Reily spoke lowly.

“You know, I just got the funniest feeling the old man is going to take care of everything.”

Keller turned and walked out of the phone room. Redding finished his conversation shortly after and left as well. O’Reily exited the room as well but did follow Keller to get answers from him. Not with Allah’s eyes being around. He had talked to Redding---worked out some kind of deal with the leader of the homeboys when they were in the phone room together. However, this could have been Keller counting his chickens before they hatched again. They were not safe until Supreme Allah was in a pine box. And Keller smugly telling him they were out of the woods annoyed the hell out of him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**Wintry weather cooled both the** outside and inside of Oz as darkness casted shadows over the pods and everything in between. It was winter and a blizzard was supposed to be hitting the outside, but nothing would change inside Oz. Nothing ever changed inside Oz. Officer Murphy walked around one last time; he was reveling in the silence, before he climbed up the stairs and rang the morning buzzer. Ryan O’Reily jumped awake. He thought he was having a nightmare.

“Fuck. Cyril, hey, you okay?” he asked and looked down to see his little brother looking at his long hair.

“My hair is changing back,” he smiled gleefully.

“Oh, shit. Look at that.”

“And my skin. I’m not wrinkled.”

An officer pounded on the door and yelled, “Let’s go, let’s go.”

Both got quickly dressed and went outside for count. After, they had to come back and brush their teeth and wash their faces before heading out to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. O’Reily hurried them both because he did not want to hear Pancamo’s mouth this morning. That bastard got off on the power he thought he had---if he was even able to get off anymore with all those steroids he took. His balls had to be the size of peas by now. Everyone entered the kitchen and got to work. The air was definitely cooler in Oz now.

Breakfast had been uneventful for the most part but O’Reily found himself keeping an eye on El Norte throughout the entire meal. Mainly Morales. He was just as delusional as Pancamo in that he thought he had real power and respect. The leaders had gotten complacent---except for maybe Redding and Said. No one but him knew he was watching of course, but he was unsure of why he was looking at them. One thing was clear, though. It did not look the same without Alvarez.

He may have been crazy or moody or had completely gone off the deep end in the past, but he had heart. Alvarez had heart and loyalty and respect for what El Norte should have been. He had only wanted to be a member of the group, for them to accept him, but they treated him like an outcast---someone expendable and not even worth keeping alive. He was the only fucking member worth having in that group. Not scumfuck lapdogs like Guerra or stupid asses like Vasquez. He made a stupid move on Alvarez and it cost him his life. Alvarez was beyond all of them and yet still Morales treated him as if he did not deserve to be a part of the Latino gang. Morales still wanted him to prove himself after everything he did out of loyalty to El Norte and their fucked up leaders.

“Dammit, Alvarez,” O’Reily muttered under his breath as he was eating.

“Ryan, what’s wrong?” his brother asked and looked at him with those childlike eyes of his. “Are you sick?”

“No, no. Nothing like that, Cyril. Finish up your breakfast. We have to get back to the kitchen to clean up soon.”

The kitchen was clean about an hour later and he walked back to Em City alone and unescorted. He had asked Pancamo if Cyril could leave a little early because he wanted to watch the weather and the Italian agreed. He was swimming in his own thoughts and felt a cold brush of air on the back of his neck. A thought interjected itself into his brain and he suddenly felt remorse. For the first time in a very long time, Ryan O’Reily felt remorse over someone other than Cyril. He thought that Oz had stripped him of all the weaker emotions and powered up the malevolent, stronger ones. But, even he was still human.

He had thought back to the boxing matches and the lengths he went to ensure Cyril’s victory over every opponent he faced. He had not cared about who he stepped on or stepped over to get to the prize. His brother’s winning had made him happy, and had put a lot of money in his pocket, but the wins had not been real. Well, except for Khan---and even that had been under some extraordinary circumstances, with him manipulating his own brother’s emotions. Cyril had nightmares for months about killing Khan and he had to sit there and rock him back to sleep every time. Maybe that was his penance to bear.

But O’Reily had never thought twice about how his cheating had affected Alvarez. He had even thrown in a couple of insults at the Latino himself after he had lost to Cramer. El Cid had come down hard on him for losing to a fag and embarrassing the Latinos. That had only made relations between the two of them more strained. Alvarez had walked around for a while like a zombie without purpose or concentration. The other inmates had disrespected him continuously for the loss and El Norte had wanted nothing to do with him. El Cid had wanted him dead so many times over.

The wins had never been real. He had never told Cyril or anyone else. He was not going to crush his brother’s victory like that---even if it had come from underhandedness. And, he had not given a fuck about the likes of Pancamo or Wangler, but Alvarez actually had some moves in the ring. He just never had the proper chance to show them off. Now, the Latino had found himself in the same situation again---had to prove himself to someone who was not even worthy of his time. Someone who had no idea of his potential---how valuable he could be. Now O’Reily understood why he did it. Why he had taken shit from Hernandez and now Morales. It was not about them---it never had been. It had always been about El Norte. He was loyal to El Norte itself.

“Ay, O’Reily---get your ass moving back to Em City,” a passing officer ordered him.

The Irishman hadn’t realized that he stopped walking when he was engulfed inside his mind. He smirked at the officer and quickly made his way back to Em City. Cyril had saved him a chair so he went to retrieve his earphones from the pod and sat to watch TV. Maybe it would get his mind off the guilt he felt. O’Reily needed to get away from those kinds of weaker emotions because they could be used against him here. Showing weakness was never an option to him.

Snowfall outside was going to be a problem, or so the weatherman said. He wondered what it would be like to touch the powdery white stuff again---to have snowball fights with his brother like they did when they were younger. Cyril had one of the fastest pitches he knew. His snowballs hurt when they met with skin. O’Reily had to reserve himself to the fact that those days were never coming back again. They were never going to happen for him.

“O’Reily. You got a visitor,” an officer walked up and announced to him.

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Some broad.”

He wondered what this was about as he got up and went to follow the officer. There was no one he was expecting and his mind ran through the possibilities as the two of them made their way to the visitor’s room. Maybe it was a lawyer. It definitely was not his Aunt Brenda. The officer let him into the room and showed him the station he needed to be at. O’Reily looked at the older blond woman and did not know her. He sat down, picked up the phone, and never took his eyes off her.

“Who are you?” he asked, waiting for an answer.

“My name is Suzanne Fitzgerald,” the woman answered in a sweet voice.

“Do we know each other?”

“Yes, but we haven’t seen each other since you were a very small child.”

“Look, lady, I’m not real big on nostalgia, so, what do you want?” O’Reily still had no idea where the conversation was going.

“Ryan, I came because I have something to tell you, and it’s something I think you’re going to find impossible to understand.”

“Try me,” were his only words.

“I’m your mother,” the blonde woman said, with their eyes connected.

“My mother’s dead,” O’Reily responded as a rage built up inside him.

“No, I’m your real mother. That woman that you thought was your mother---”

He shot up and slammed the phone against the glass partition as he screamed, “My mother’s dead!”

Suzanne Fitzgerald got a look of terror on her face as her son attacked the glass separating them and had to be restrained and removed by two officers. She still had so much to say but understood he needed time to process what just happened. She watched on until he was no longer in view before she left. It was a hard adjustment for anyone so suddenly to understand. She knew she had expected too much from the first meeting.

O’Reily brushed off the officers after he calmed himself down but his mind was still reeling with questions. He immediately thought it was a scam, but she seemed so nice---so gentle. And, he freaked out like a maniac in front of her. It probably scared her off. Rage and anger bubbled over in that moment and he was unable to control himself. The Irishman swallowed hard when he saw another hack walking towards him.

“I got this, boys,” Howell said to her two fellow officers. “I’ll escort this little prick back to Em City.”

“Fuck you, Howell,” he scolded.

“My thoughts exactly, stud.”

The other two officers disappeared and Howell walked him to another practically deserted female bathroom to have her way with him. She immediately pushed him into the stall and grabbed his package between his jeans. It responded, but O’Reily was in no mood to play with her. He was not even in a sexual mood at the moment. Not with the bombshell that had just exploded in the visitor’s room. The hack was on her knees in front of him as he sat on the toilet and she slipped his dick into her mouth.

O’Reily closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the experience for what it was instead of hating the hack that was touching him. Her head went up and down as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and grunted. The faster he got off the better. He did not care about her pleasure this time---not that he ever did in the past. She had a pussy and that was all he needed. No way was he going to be fucking some guy in the ass. Keller knew he always cringed at the mere mention of that and that was why he always teased him about his and Beecher’s escapades.

Howell pulled down his pants more and was rubbing his thigh with one hand while continuing to suck and lick his meat. Her other hand clumsily fumbled with her belt buckle to loosen her own pants. O’Reily had to make this as quick and painless as possible for himself. He could not think of her wanting to get her crummy hands on Cyril or the woman in the visitor’s room. He had to finish this soon.

“Well, it’s about damn time you got hard. I was starting to think you didn’t find me attractive anymore,” the hack stood up and looked down at him while she slid her pants down.

“Just hurry up and fuck yourself already. It’s up.”

“Aren’t you just a romantic.”

She split her legs on either side of him and lowered herself to mount him. He let her do all the work as his hands stayed at his side and never moved. Their lips never touched and he kept his eyes closed most of the time. The Irishman felt the warmness envelop him though and there was a momentary jolt of pleasure, but their spark had been lost long ago. He was not attracted to her and the sex was lousy. But, it was prison, so O’Reily took what he could get.

Howell straddled him and started bouncing on his lap and he interlocked his hands behind his head, determined to make her do all the work. It was practically molestation---as many of their past sessions had been. She had virtually forced or blackmailed him into having sex with her. It had been a great release for O’Reily at first and he enjoyed the hell out of it but she was possessive and vindictive now---and the sex had fizzled out into an ordinary routine, like the one prisoners were forced to followed in Oz. Grunts and groans hit his ears and she bucked wildly to try and get herself off.

“Push into me dammit!” she demanded. “I’m ain’t feeling shit!”

“You do it. Not in the mood here---” O’Reily said and never even bothered to open his eyes.

“Tough titties! Use that big dick of yours to fuck me.”

“You do it. And hurry up---I have other places to be,” he said to her. 

“Come on---fuck me like you did when we were in the hole. You had your spark then.”

He ignored her and just concentrated on keeping himself hard until she got off or got sick of him and physically got off him. She rubbed and grinded into his lap and it seemed to help because he let out a soft grunt. The stimulation was slowly building and it seemed like they had been going at it for hours. Sex with Shannon was never this tiresome or joyless. But, it had been a long time since they had been together and the walls of Oz severely limited O’Reily’s chances of getting laid the way he wanted to. Getting sex on his terms---not with some dyke he could not even stand.

She was bucking and rubbing and swaying her hips like a bitch in heat and it was actually starting to crush his thighs. It was uncomfortable and void of pleasure as she fucked him. That was essentially what it was---she was fucking him. O’Reily was not down on his hands and knees getting fucked in the ass or anything like that, but he was just there with his hard dick for her to take advantage of. He had been forced to take the role of the submissive partner in their relationship a few times because Howell was so fucking domineering.

“Fuck this shit!” he screamed out.

O’Reily removed his hands from behind his head and gripped on to her meaty hips as he began drilling into her. He was never submissive in bed---he was not this hack’s bitch. He was the dominant force in the bedroom---or occasional bathroom, as the case was here. He slammed his lap into her hips and the smacking sound of skin echoed throughout the bathroom. Fingers squeezed her skin tightly and she cried out in pain but never stopped herself from keeping the rhythm they had developed. O’Reily finally thanked his body as he pushed Howell back a little and his dick flopped out and smacked his stomach, cum dripping out onto his skin.

The ugly hack pushed him off and said, “Well, finally!”

“Jesus, dammit!” he groaned as he reached for paper to clean off his stomach.

“Feels like you’ve been in there since Halloween,” she complained while organizing her clothes.

“Hey, I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Like I give a shit!”

“You know, Howell, you are such a cunt,” the Irishman sneered and stood up to pull shirt down and his pants up.

“Look at us arguing like an old married couple. You know, O’Reily, that’s the problem. The thrill is gone.”

“Meaning what? What, what, we’re through?”

“Yep. Time for me to move on to greener pastures.”

“Oh, I’m just so heartbroken.”

He covered his hands over his chest, as if someone as stupid and ugly as Claire Howell could ever break his heart. He had to laugh at what a dumbass she was, but she could potentially be off his back for good. Dread set in when he realized Cyril was very high on the list of being her next victim. Before O’Reily had a chance to warn her to stay the hell away from his brother, she was gone---slipped out without as much as a word. He was fuming inside at the thought of her hands on him. _That poisonous bitch._

O’Reily had to get back to Em City to see his brother, but now was lunchtime and they were both supposed to be in the kitchen. Pancamo was going to have his head for being late. He rushed out of the bathroom and down the hall towards the kitchen. Cyril had delivery duty today so he was unable to watch him the whole time. The Italian boss glared at him as he rushed into the cafeteria and the ending spot on the serving line to get to his duties. O’Reily took back his job from one of the wops and glanced around to see if his brother was there. He had already left.

“What the fuck, O’Reily?” Pancamo came up behind him and yelled. “You’re giving out too much corn. Scale back.”

“Huh? Where’s Cyril? He left already?”

“Out making deliveries. If you ass was on time---maybe you’d have seen him before he left. Why the fuck were you late?” the built man questioned.

“Fucking hack Howell had me tied up. I hate that bitch!”

Pancamo leaned in closer to his ear and said, “She use a rope to tie you up while she was fucking the shit out of your ass with that club of hers?”

“Fuck you, dago!” O’Reily dropped the spoon of corn and turned to face the other man. “You got something else to say, Chuckie?”

“Settle down back there!” an officer eyed them both.

Eyes faded away and he went back to serving corn, more worried about his brother now. He did not know what lunch run he had---or if he was going to run into that ugly cunt Howell. His blood boiled at the thought of her hands on his skin. The line seemed to get longer and he knew the dagos’ eyes were on him. They owned the kitchen after all, but he didn’t care. O’Reily just did what he had to do before he could get the hell out and go find Cyril. The Italians were not a problem to him.

“O’Reily, Dr. Nathan needs to see you. Now,” the same officer that broke up his war of words with Pancamo walked over and told him.

“What, what? Is it my brother?” he dropped the spoon and asked.

“Don’t know. Let’s go.”

Pancamo started to protest but it fell on deaf ears as O’Reily ran out of the cafeteria and towards the hospital ward. Something had to have happened with Cyril. His relationship with Gloria was still strained so she rarely called him out to come and see her. The officer kept up with him until they stopped outside the ward. Cyril was lying in one of the beds with his eyes closed and his wrists and ankles bound to the side of the bed. He tried to rush over to the bed, but was stopped and redirected into the office by Officer Murphy.

“Officer Howell says that you brother, without provocation, hit her,” Dr. Nathan said.

O’Reily’s face grew with anger and he said, “She’s a lying cunt.”

“In any event, I’ve sedated him. He’ll sleep in the ward tonight,” she went on to explain.

“We seem to be coming back to the same problem. I’m not sure what else we can do,” Murphy said to him.

“I don’t understand.”

“We’re thinking Cyril should be transferred to the Conley Institute,” Murphy told him.

“The insane asylum? Uh-uhh---no fucking way!” O’Reily was furious at the suggestion.

“We won’t decide anything until McManus gets back. John, take him out of here,” Murphy ordered another officer, who came forward.

“Gloria, don’t let them do this. You know he won’t survive in there,” the officer grabbed his hand and pulled him away. “Gloria, I’m serious!”

His voice echoed throughout the infirmary as he was escorted out and returned to Em City. He immediately went to the phones to place a call and returned to his pod to think. So much was going on around him and he felt like he was losing control. O’Reily had to be strong and remain in control though because he had both himself and Cyril to watch out for and protect. Oz’s trials and tribulations were seeping away his strength. He rested on his brother’s bunk was unaware when he drifted off to sleep. His body craved rest.

“O’Reily, hey. O’Reily,” an officer popped his head into the pod hours later and called out.

“What?” he turned on the bed but did not bother to open his eyes.

“You got a visitor. Wake up.”

“Oh, shit!”

The Irishman jumped up from his nap and quickly headed out the pod to get the answers he needed. Maybe something could be salvaged from this horrible day. O’Reily walked quickly with the officer at his side to the visitor’s room---the one that resembled a lounge rather than the phones and glass with no physical touching. The man was dusting off snow from his hat when he entered.

“Hey, Dad.”

“It’s snowing like a motherfucker. They said we’ll get maybe fifteen inches by Thursday,” Seamus O’Reily told his son as they both sat across from one another.

“I appreciate you making the effort.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The hacks are talking about sending Cyril away to the state loony farm,” O’Reily said the words that left a bad taste in his mouth.

“So?”

“So? So, if he goes to that shithole by himself, then he’s gone forever.”

“What’s the difference? This shithole, that shithole,” his father was uncaring and it made him upset.

“Yeah, but at least here in Oz, he’s got me.”

“And you’ve been such a force for good in his life, huh?” Seamus O’Reily threw it in his son’s face.

“Fuck you.”

“That’s my boy. You didn’t call me about Cyril. You got some other nonsense going on. Now, out with it because I want to get back before the roads get worse.”

Discussing Cyril was only a small part of him wanting to meet the man. He did not care about what happened to either of them when they were on the outside so it came as no shock that he did not care about Cyril’s possible placement in Conley. O’Reily had to find out about that strange woman, though. What she wanted---if what she said had been true.

“Suzanne Fitzgerald. She came to see me. She says she’s my real mother.”

“She’s a lying cunt,” Seamus’s body tensed and went on the defensive as he said it. “A miserable lying cunt, you hear me?”

“Fuck---it’s true,” O’Reily could immediately tell by his father’s actions.

“I got to go,” he got up and put his hat back on.

“It’s true, isn’t it, Dad?” he got up to and yelled out at his bastard of a parent. “It’s true!”

His hands shook as his father never bothered to look back as he left the visitor’s room. O’Reily could not believe it---the woman he thought was his mother all his life was not, and now his real mother had found him. It sounded like a clichéd episode of a soap opera, but this was his life. That woman rotting in the ground was not his flesh and blood. O’Reily left and badly needed someone to talk to. He knew Gloria had her hands full, so she would not be able to give him the attention he needed. _The nun._ He quickly walked over to her office and barged in without even knocking first.

“Ryan---what are you doing?” Sister Peter Marie asked as she stood up from her desk and looked at him through her glasses, a bit alarmed.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, the desperation evident in his voice. “Now.”

“I can’t now, Ryan,” she walked over to him and touched his arm with obvious concern. “I have an appointment in a few minutes. But I can schedule---”

“Actually, Basil cancelled this morning,” Beecher said to her from his computer. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you. What’s wrong, Ryan?”

“Not now, Beecher!” he snapped. “Please, Sister. I need to talk to you---alone.”

“Okay, sit here. Tobias, can you give us a minute?”

“Sure, Sister Pete,” he went out and closed the door behind him.

O’Reily did not have time to entertain Beecher’s curiosity nor did he care to. He just wanted someone who did not hate him or wanted him dead or was secretly plotting against him to listen to him and offer comfort. This Suzanne Fitzgerald thing was weighing him down into a void. Sister Peter Marie sat on the coffee table across from him and gently touched one of his hands as it hung from his upper leg.

“Ryan? Ryan?” she called to him. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m---I’m losing control, Sister. I’m losing Cyril and then---”

“I heard he attacked Officer Howell in Unit J. Did something else happen to him? Ryan, I’m going to need you to look up at me.”

O’Reily slowly did and said, “They want to send him to Conley. I can’t lose him, Sister. He’s all I got.”

“Oh. You have to understand that Cyril’s behavior has been very erratic these past months.”

“She fucked touched him! I know she did,” he said with scorn on his lips.

“Touched him how?”

“Maybe she squeezed his ass---or grabbed his dick. He never recovered from what that Nazi fuck Schillinger did to him. He was scared and confused and---”

“Okay, okay,” Sister Peter Marie calmed him down and spoke in her serene voice. “I will talk to Cyril tomorrow after he leaves the hospital ward, okay? I’ll see what information I can gather from him.”

“You have to help him, Sister. McManus will send him to Conley. Gloria said there was nothing she could do.”

“I will talk to Tim when he returns from the hospital, Ryan. If Cyril was provoked in any way by Officer Howell, and that brought back memories in him of the ordeal with Schillinger, then his actions could be deemed plausible.”

“Yes, Sister,” O’Reily said as he began to calm down.

“Plausible, Ryan---not condoned,” she made it extremely clear. “Violence against other inmates or staff members is not taken lightly, you know that. And Cyril has a history of violent outbursts against both inmates and guards.”

“I know, Sister. I try to keep him calm and under control but I’m not with him all the time. I can’t be,” the Irishman sighed.

He felt like he was losing his brother to Oz. The currents inside the maximum security prison were pulling them apart and away from each other. Cyril was the only one he really had. His father was a fucking liar and an asshole that never cared about any of his children. And, he was unsure of what kind of relationship he would have with Suzanne Fitzgerald---his mother. O’Reily sometimes wished the currents in Oz just dragged him away and never brought him back. That thought had only occurred to him when he was under massive amounts of stress and buried in problems, though.

“I will run another psychological evaluation on Cyril and talk to Dr. Nathan about more possible solutions to keep him calm. Don’t worry, Ryan. Conley will be the last resort,” she said as she got up and went over to her desk to begin writing things down. “Is that all?”

“Um---no,” O’Reily sounded so timid.

“Oh, okay,” she returned to the coffee table. “What else is on your mind?”

“Sister, whatever we say here stays here, right? I mean---between you and me?”

“Now, Ryan, you know us nuns aren’t the gossiping type. But if it’s something illicit---”

“It’s not, Sister. I promise.”

“Okay. Tell me.”

“I got a visit from a woman earlier today. She---she said she was my real mother.”

“Oh, I see,” Sister Peter Marie looked at him with those caring eyes of hers. “Could it be a mistake? Has she mistaken you for someone else?”

O’Reily thought about it for a while then said, “No. No. I asked my Dad to come and see me and he all but confirmed it. She’s my real mother.”

“Okay. And, how does that make you feel?”

“Angry---upset,” he looked over to her but away again. “Confused, and, hurt.”

“What did you say to her? Did you tell her you felt these things?”

“I---yelled that my mother was dead and slammed the phone against the glass. She got scared---I saw it in her eyes,” O’Reily remembered the look.

“Give it time to sink in, Ryan,” she took his hand in both of hers and said. “Imagine how hard it must have been for her to come here---to see you after all these years.”

“Sister, do you think I should meet her---talk to her?”

She smiled warmly at him and said, “Now, you know I can’t tell you what to do, Ryan. And, I don’t want to. What I think is that you should seek answers to the questions you have---hear her version of the story. Only then will you know if building a relationship with her is possible.”

The conversation had wrapped up with Sister Pete and it did make him feel a little better. He had not always treated her kindly or with the respect she deserved, but she was always there to fight for him---and for Cyril. It was getting late and lights out would be soon so he asked the officer if they could swing by the hospital ward to see his brother. He declined so a bribe was made. Most of the hacks in here were as guilty as the prisoners themselves. Almost all of them took bribes or smuggled in things from the outside for the prisoners to sell and they made a side profit from it.

O’Reily sat by his brother’s bedside for what seemed like hours, waiting for him to wake up on his own. He watched as his chest rose and fell with the steady breaths and cringed as he imagined where Howell had violated him---cringed at the thought of that Nazi bastard Schillinger and his skinhead cronies raping him in a closet when he had first gotten to Oz. Again, O’Reily was not there to protect him. He was talking to Gloria about his real mother but she had to go take care of a patient. He stayed still and looked at Cyril until she returned and sat next to him.

“A son’s obligation is to protect his mother, no matter from who, even his own father. The woman I thought was my mother; I knew she never loved me. Now I know why,” he had come to the realization.

“And Suzanne Fitzgerald?”

“I think she’s my mom. And, I chased her out, and I have no idea how to reach her.”

“Well, maybe I can find her,” Gloria Nathan surprisingly offered.

“Would you? Would you do that for me? And this bullshit about sending Cyril away, you’ll take care of that, too?”

“Ryan, I can’t make any promises. This isn’t my decision.”

“But you’ll plead his case, right?” O’Reily was hopeful.

“Ryan---”

“Please. Don’t let them separate us.”

“Ryan?” Cyril’s subdued voice called out to him as his eyes fluttered open.

“Hey, how you doing, champ?”

“Better.”

“You all right?” he spoke to his brother but then turned to Dr. Nathan. “I know you’ll do what’s right.”

The bribed officer shook his head and that meant his time was up. He touched Cyril on his forehead and gave Dr. Nathan a strong look before he was forced to leave. She told him that he would be released in the morning after breakfast but it was going to be lonely in his pod tonight. O’Reily arrived in Em City with little time to spare as count was upon them. He just went into his pod after that and dropped onto the top bunk to fall asleep. The day was a long and exhausting one.

The following day was cooler than the last but things had gotten a bit better because Cyril was released from the infirmary promptly after breakfast just as Dr. Nathan had said. They were all sitting around in the quad talking or watching TV. O’Reily was inside his mind plotting further moves and wondering how he was going to get Howell of their backs. She had evolved from a nuisance to a full-blown problem. The Irishman decided to relax today and put off on spinning webs and making plans, however. He would find a way to deal with Howell later.

“It’s cold in here. You guys cold?” Hoyt bundled up to himself and asked.

“Put on a fucking sweater,” Pancamo said.

“When is Busmalis getting married?” Beecher asked.

“Tomorrow,” Rebadow answered on his best friend’s behalf.

“That’s what I though. Shouldn’t we do something?”

O’Reily turned to him and asked, “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Bachelor party,” Beecher was enthusiastic when he suggested it.

“A bachelor party here in Oz?” the Irishman said and he tried not to laugh at the foolishness of the idea.

“Bachelor parties are one part alcohol, one part strippers,” Rebadow reminded them. “We’re in short supply of both.”

“Fine. I just thought, tomorrow’s a big day for Busmalis. Forget I brought it up,” Beecher pouted and got up and walked off.

“He misses Keller,” Rebadow noticed as he watched him leave.

“I don’t. So, Rebadow, you’re the best man, huh? This marriage is doomed. Let’s go, Cyril, come on,” O’Reily laughed as he and his brother left the old man sitting there.

All this talk of marriage made him sick. The only reason he married Shannon was that he did not want any other man laying a finger on her. He loved her but not the way he loved Gloria. O’Reily returned to the pod with his brother and climbed up the bunk to relax on his bed. Cyril immediately went for the coloring book and crayons their Aunt Brenda sent for him. He looked up at the ceiling of the pod and thought about Suzanne Fitzgerald. He thought about marriage---and love. O’Reily wondered if he ever experienced true love. He knew it was not with Shannon. Maybe he had it with Gloria, but that could never be. He wondered if he was even capable of feeling such an emotion---for it seemed to have eluded him at every corner.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **Things had finally calmed down** for him and the routine was beginning to settle in once again. Cyril was under control and Howell had left them both alone for the past few days. He was still unsure about Suzanne Fitzgerald because Dr. Nathan had not been able to track her down. O’Reily needed to meet her, though---he needed to know her. He watched as his brother was in the quad watching _Up Your Ante_ with Rebadow and Beecher. He was in the computer room and was idly surfing the web. He waited for some low level prisoner he had no interest in to leave before he could do what he needed to.

Busmalis was depressed and had not left his pod the past few days because his fiancée Norma had stood him up at the altar. He told them marriage was a joke. It held weight hundreds of years ago, but marriage today was something people did out of boredom---or to get money or power. Love and marriage had divorced each other a long time ago and it was a bitter battle. The random fag clicked off his gay porn websites and left the computer room behind. O’Reily worked fast while still being mindful of Cyril.

“Let’s see,” he spoke to himself as he looked up the words Alvarez had called him.

Lunchtime was soon and it was his turn to deliver to Solitary so if it was something bad, he had the chance to tell off the loco Latino. He looked through many Spanish words until something caught his eye. _Snake?_ He continued looking, unsure of why he was determined to find out the words’ true meaning. Alvarez called him that a while ago and O’Reily was more than positive that the crazy fuck had forgotten all about it already. He was in Solitary---and he tended to go a little crazy in there. O’Reily wrote down what he saw and clicked off the page just as someone else entered the room. It was time to go anyway.

“Venomous---viper?” the Irishman read his handwriting inside his pod.

He did not quite know how to feel at the name but had to laugh when he realized how true it was. Alvarez had him pegged and he was amused by the new nickname. _It sure as hell beats mick._ O’Reily then got an idea and looked around for a piece of paper and something to write with. His eyes focused on Cyril to make sure he remained where he was before tearing a small slip of paper away from the large sheet. He smiled as he wrote the note.

**You damn right I’m a fucking venomous viper.**

O’Reily folded the note into a small square and rested it in his kitchen whites’ shirt pocket. It had made him smile. Nevertheless, it was also slightly reassuring because Alvarez still viewed him as a threat---no one he knew played with venomous vipers just for the hell of it. He stepped back onto the quad just in time to see Pancamo burling down the stairs to head to the kitchen. That was his cue to leave as well.

“Cyril, come on,” he yelled out. “We have to go to the kitchen.”

Cyril energetically jumped up and followed his big brother out of Emerald City and towards the cafeteria. The usual crew was already there and setting up as inmates strolled down the hallways. He retrieved the cart and list of inmates in the hospital ward, Unit J, and Solitary. The dyke Howell was assigned to Unit J and that was where she had squeezed Cyril’s ass---his brother had told him. He did not have the time or energy to deal with her or her games. He was just going to get in and out.

O’Reily decided to go to Solitary last and headed off to Unit J first. He would deal with the dragon first and then go to see Gloria after. Howell was surprisingly on her best behavior when he approached and barely spoke two words to him. He shrugged her off and went on with his deliveries. In the infirmary, O’Reily was surprised to learn that Dr. Nathan had not come into work. He wondered what that was about but kept moving along to his last stop.

The cart clanked and stopped right outside Solitary as O’Reily slid out the first tray of food and lifted it to reveal chicken nuggets. He reached into his shirt pocket and rested the slip of paper in the same compartment as the nuggets before quickly covering it back up and entering Solitary. The boys had to have been good because the slot on their doors were open. 

“Hey, what’s up, half-dick?” O’Reily tormented Robson as he pushed the tray in so hard it crashed onto the floor.

“Fucking mick! Fuck hey! Hey, fuck!” the skinhead tried to reach his hand out to grab.

“Hey!” Officer Smith banged on the door with his baton. “Get in there!”

“Here you go, Alvarez,” he slid the first tray in and it crashed to the floor like the last one, but it was not intentional.

“Stupid fuck,” Alvarez cursed and went to get his tray from the ground.

“Hey, Smith.” O’Reily called to the guard when he reached the next cell over.

“Yeah?”

“Jenkins don’t look so hot, man.”

“What do you mean?” the officer approached and looked inside the cell. “Oh!”

“Guess he won’t be eating his chicken nuggets.”

“Ah, sh---”

Smith fumbled with his keys and stuck it into the lock to pry the door open. Jenkins was hanging from the post of the bed with a sheet around his neck. It looked like his eyes were still moving as Smith rushed to cut him down. O’Reily thought about going back to talk to Alvarez for a quick minute during the commotion but decided against it with the likes of Robson watching on. He was going to find the note on his own. O’Reily left Smith to his dead body and rolled the lunch cart all the way back to Unit J to begin receiving the trays. Delivering was such a hassle, but at least he got to walk around.

 

 **The mild medication** Dr. Nathan had him on was working. He hadn’t smeared shit all over himself and the walls since that once, but it made him drowsy and cranky at times. And he still felt cramped in this box---that was never going to go away. The medicine helped silence the voices, though, and that was what was most important to him. Alvarez was resting in his bed and staring up at the ceiling of his box when the small metal window slipped open and invading eyes peered inside.

“Alvarez, get your ass up,” Smith called to him. “You have a visit.”

“I’m not sleeping.”

“Hello, Miguel,” Dr. Nathan said warmly as the metal doors flung back and she entered his little space.

“My checkup already?” he sat up on the bed.

“Yes, and I brought Father Mukada with me to say hi,” she looked past the open metal door and the priest appeared.

“Hello, Miguel. It’s good to see you,” Father Mukada entered the cell as well.

“Same to you, Padre.”

Three people were in his cell and he was beginning to feel even more anxious and claustrophobic. Dr. Nathan sat on the bed next to him and pulled out her stethoscope to check his heart rate and pulse. Father Mukada looked on in silence and Alvarez caught his eyes a few times. The stethoscope orb went under his shirt to his chest and then to his back. It was cold. It unexpectedly made him miss Maritza’s warm touch over his skin. She had always known how to make him feel good without it necessarily being about sex. The touching and kissing and just being close was what he missed most.

“Miguel, how is the medicine I prescribed for you?” she asked as she got up and replaced the tool around her neck. “Any new side effects? Any out of the ordinary behaviors or feelings?”

“No. I still get a little tired and mad sometimes---but I feel better than I used to.”

“That’s good to hear. Any other pains or effects I should know about?”

“No.”

“Okay, then. You seem to be doing fine. You’re stable and relaxed for the most part. You’ll let me know if anything changes?”

“Yes,” the Latino answered.

“All right. I have to go to another patient. You ready, Father?” Dr. Nathan looked over at the priest and he smiled.

“Hey, Padre, can you stay a minute? I need to talk to you---alone,” he requested.

“Okay---sure. I’ll meet up with you later, Gloria,” Father Mukada stepped forward and told her.

“Okay. I’ll see you soon, Miguel.”

He waved her bye and she disappeared to take care of someone else. Father Mukada gave the officer a look and soon he was being closed into the cell with the other man. The priest was always a little nervous in situations like this, but he knew Miguel Alvarez. Yes, they had a long and battered relationship over the years, but he knew the man meant him no harm---not purposefully anyway. Alvarez looked up at him and let out a little laugh.

“You can sit here next to me, Padre. I don’t bite.”

“Oh, okay,” he had to smile at that too and moved over to sit on the bed. “You look well, Miguel. Healthy body and you’re mind seems to be on the mend.”

“The medicine Dr. Nathan gives me really helps a lot.”

“That’s good to hear. What did you want to see me about?”

“Don’t be mad, okay?”

“About what?” Father Mukada looked at him and asked.

“It’s nothing serious or anything like that,” Alvarez said, as he got more comfortable. “I was lonely so I asked you to stay and keep me company for a little while. Can you do that, Father?”

“Sure I can, Miguel---for a little while.”

“Thanks. I thought you were at some priests’ conference? That’s what I heard anyway.”

“I was. I came back early. Has Sister Pete been to see you?”

“No. No one but Dr. Nathan comes to see me,” he said.

“She must have gotten busy. But, don’t worry---I’ll come by to see you whenever I can,” the priest said and smiled because of how Alvarez’s face lit up by the words.

“Really?”

“Yes. If it will help your recovery, then yes.”

Alvarez sighed because he knew the priest meant his words but he also knew that he was just as busy as Sister Peter Marie so the chances of them seeing each other as often as he wanted were not promising. He was so lonely and needed someone to talk to. Robson was a racist and Jenkins had killed himself the same way he tried to a year or two ago. The medication had him stabilized, but it was still quiet and lifeless inside his cell. Solitary was miserable and he missed hands besides his own touching him--- missed hands caressing him and holding him.

“You have a soft spot for me, Father,” the Latino said out of nowhere but never looked him in his eyes.

“What?” Father Mukada looked surprised by the words. “That’s not true. I feel the same way about you as I do for every other prisoner here in Oz.”

“Come on---admit it. There’s something here that you don’t have with the other prisoners.”

“I know you have a good soul, Miguel,” he said as he tapped Alvarez on the shoulder. “I know you’re a good man---a good man whom many bad things have happened to.”

The Latino turned to face him and said, “I know I dragged you through hell, Father. I know that. I betrayed you during the riot, watched as they carried you off with the other hostages, and did nothing to help you. And after all you did to get me to see my baby being born, and after God took him back because he was too perfect for this shitty world---”

“Miguel---” Father Mukada almost whispered as he just watched him.

“Shit---this medicine is making me soft.”

“No, Miguel. You’re not soft. You’re a compassionate man, to a fault. Don’t give up on yourself because I haven’t given up on you.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Alvarez looked directly into his eyes when he said. “I’m sorry for all the things I’ve done to you.”

“Miguel, is there something else on your mind?”

“No. I’m fine.”

The priest did not looked convinced but smiled anyway and said, “Okay. I have to get going now.”

“Okay.”

“It was good to see you, Miguel.”

“Hey, can you bring me a pen and some paper on your next visit?” Alvarez asked before Father Mukada had a chance to knock on the door to notify the guard that their time was over.

“Miguel---I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he hesitated as he said.

“Don’t worry, Padre---my mood is stable. I’d like to write stuff down. It’ll help me pass the time in here. I promise that’s all it is.”

The priest believed him and knocked on the metal door before he said, “Okay. I’ll try come by later and give it to you if I can.”

The door swung open as Alvarez said, “Thanks.”

“God be with you, Miguel Alvarez.”

A crushing weight had been lifted off his chest---a weight that he had been carrying around since right after the riot. Father Mukada was the closest thing he had to a friend in here and he still had betrayed him and had practically fed him to the wolves during the riot. He was sorry for the way he treated the man and had to try to make amends to the one person that had his best interests in mind in this crazy fucking place. Alvarez got up and dug into his pocket to retrieve the small piece of paper that had come with his lunch tray.

 

 **It was all** over the news and the prison was buzzing with excitement and anticipation for his return. Padraig Connolly, a member of the IRA and suspected terrorist threat was in Oz. O’Reily gave himself a small smile as he and Cyril sat in the quad waiting for the man to come out of McManus’s office. The thought of another Irishman to add to their numbers already had him excited and plotting future plans. Pancamo and Morales were upstairs and everyone looked on as Connolly entered Em City. O’Reily pointed him out to Cyril but remained on the defensive for now.

He had to get Connolly alone to talk to him to see if he was interested in becoming partners. But, it had to wait until all the excitement died down because O’Reily knew all eyes were on the newest member of Em City---especially those of Redding, Pancamo, and Morales. He did not have the power to start a war with any of the three groups so he tried his best to remain neutral in their eyes. A few hours later, the routine had returned for the most part and O’Reily walked upstairs and entered the pod.

“Hey---Ryan O’Reily,” he extended his hand.

“Stand back,” his accent was immediately noticeable and his voice was firm.

“Huh?”

“In the doorway.”

“No, but I just---”

“Stand back,” Connolly repeated again and got angrier.

“All right. I like that, Padraig. You’re a soldier, you’re cautious. This is good.”

O’Reily gave him a compliment because he knew he could manipulate this man into working for him---he was the fucking venomous viper in this place. He stepped back to give the man his room and Connolly went back to unpacking his things to get settled. O’Reily needed to know what he knew but remained quiet for now. He had to remain at the vest for right now.

“How do you know me name?” Connolly asked.

“Oh, on the TV the past couple of days, nothing but you and the IRA executing that British limey Commando officer fuck thing.”

“That was on the telly? That we executed Captain Hurley?”

“Yeah.”

Connolly softly said, “That’s not what happened.”

“Well, hey. Doesn’t matter what happened, that’s what the guys in here think happened. And, believe me, that’s a good thing for both of us,” the Irishman slowly began to work his prey---he really was what Alvarez had called him.

“Mr. O’Reily, I have no need for what you’re selling.”

“You know, Padraig, you’re starting to piss me off so I’m just going to say this once. You best start treating Oz like the North of Ireland because in here you walk, talk, sleep, work, eat, shit, and drink with your own kind. You fucking understand me?”

“Because your name’s O’Reily, you’re one of my kind?” Connolly asked him.

“We got the same color green running through our veins, bro.”

“If that were true, it wouldn’t matter here.”

“What wouldn’t matter?” O’Reily was not following.

“There was no execution.”

“You should be looking at me. We’re being watched.”

“Watched?” Connolly looked around outside his pod.

“I walk out of here and on body language alone, everyone’s going to know what’s what between the two of us.”

“I won’t be here long enough to need your friendship so, have a good walk,” he dismissed him.

Ryan O’Reily left the pod with some progress made but not as much as he wanted. Connolly was going to be a small challenge to him and the idea gave him a rush of adrenaline. Officer Murphy’s eyes were on him as he climbed down and so were the likes of Poet, Guerra, and Pancamo. They knew he was trying to recruit Connolly but he ignored them all. O’Reily was going to have to bite him another time.

The cafeteria was crowded and noisy with inmates as lunch was being served. Cyril was at the sink washing trays and playing with the soap bubbles while he was getting the cart set to go back and pick up the trays from Unit J, the hospital ward, and Solitary. O’Reily had to come back to the kitchen to get another cart because the wheel jammed on the first one. He had just finished delivered all the food though so it wasn’t too bad.

Howell was being her usual cunt self in Unit J and had grabbed his package in front of Yood. The cop-turned-bad never understood the type of relationship she and O’Reily had. It was obvious he hated her but something else was going on between them. He smiled and turned his head until the Irishman had managed to give her the slip and sped out of Unit J.

The infirmary was busy because an inmate had been stabbed, but Dr. Nathan had told him that she got in contact with Suzanne Fitzgerald and that she was coming to visit him later in the afternoon. O’Reily could have kissed her but her hands were full, and bloody, so he picked up the trays and left. Finally, he was going to get to talk to his mother---his real mother.

Squeaking noises alerted everyone in Solitary that lunchtime was over. Smith made eye contact with him and then went back to the huge stack of paperwork on his desk---he looked stressed out and tired. Warden Glynn had to have been giving him flack for Jenkins’s death on his clock. O’Reily collected all the trays without many words. He was happy with the news about his mother. He reached the last cell and slid the window open.

“Ay, O’Reily, what the fuck, man?” Miguel Alvarez stood up and came over to the opening.

“Close it, and move on, O’Reily,” Smith looked up and ordered.

“Be cool, Smith. You’ll get something in return,” he flashed that trademark smirk of his.

“Two minutes.”

“More than enough time,” O’Reily said and then looked back to the man in front of him. “What the hell are you pissing about?”

“Man, fuck those chicken nuggets.”

“Whatever floats your boat in here, Alvarez.”

“There was a hair in them shits, man,” the Latino told him. “Look at that shit before you throw it out if you don’t believe me.”

“Tough luck there, man.”

“Whatever. Try bringing me some clean nuggets next time, víbora.”

“Close it, O’Reily,” Smith was tired of the interaction and said.

Alvarez had smiled at him as he slid the metal window close. The name sent a small shock down his spine; he picked up the tray and slid it into an open slot before pushing the cart away. O’Reily was inside his mind with the exchange that just happened. There was something more to the Latino’s smile---almost like a challenge. He replayed the conversation again and then stopped on the side of the hallway when he realized that Alvarez had given him an instruction. The man was better at doubletalk than he gave him credit for.

O’Reily slipped the tray from the cart and picked up the cover to see that nothing had been touched. Everything had remained just as it was packed in the kitchen, but he was right. There was a small black hair on top of two of the chicken nuggets. It looked like it could be Pancamo’s or one of the other wops’---it definitely was not one of Cyril’s, or his. He got ready to put back the tray until he saw a small piece of white taunting him from underneath another nugget. A neatly folded square piece of paper revealed itself.

**Muy bien, víbora. Es posible que haya esperanza para ti.**

“Damn you, Alvarez!” O’Reily looked at the Spanish words and had to laugh.

_English, dammit!_

Like before, he had no idea what the hell the words meant and it felt like the Latino was toying with him---playing with his head. _I really did underestimate you, Alvarez._ He pushed the note away inside his pocket and continued back to the kitchen. O’Reily sighed---now he had so many more words to look up than just two. He just wanted to strangle the man in Solitary for making him do all this work. Alvarez had written him back, though. He remembered their conversation and what he had said to the Irishman before being sent back to Solitary.

O’Reily felt strangeness in his heart as he sat across from her in the visitor’s room when they were talking. Suzanne Fitzgerald had come as she promised she would and it was weird to know that this woman was his mother---the same blood that ran through her veins was inside his. The same glass partition separated them as before but he saw himself in her. He had her eyes so there was no denying she was who she claimed to be.

“Did he beat you?” he asked as he tried to figure out answers.

“What?”

“Dad, did he beat you, is---is that why you left?”

“No,” his mother replied softly.

“He cheated on you.”

“I was barely seventeen and the world was new and there were people to see and places to explore and---”

O’Reily stared at her and said, “So it was you who cheated on him.”

“I guess, in a way.”

“I hated him, you know? And I would never blame you for leaving that son of a bitch, but what I don’t get is, fucking Jesus, didn’t you even just---” he was having a hard time finding the words.

“Miss you? Ryan, from the night we made you to the day I left, you are the only real happiness I have ever had. I just didn’t know that then. I was a child with a three-month-old. It didn’t even occur to me that I’d never see you again. It’s just how things had to work out,” Suzanne Fitzgerald said as she tried to explain her complicated life to her son.

“Nah, you, uh, you’re thinking of Cyril.”

“What?”

“You said three months. Cyril would’ve been the baby,” he corrected her.

“No, Ryan, you were the baby.”

“But I’m a year-and-a-half older than Cyril.”

“Your father and I didn’t have Cyril.”

He straightened up in his chair and asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Cyril’s your half-brother,” his mother said to him.

A random guard called to him that his time was up but he was not able to take his eyes off her. Cyril was not her son. She had no reason to lie about something like that. O’Reily walked his way back to Em City as another day had been wasted in Oz. The sun was setting and lights out would follow not long after. He felt as if his heart was so heavy that it was going to crash down and crush all his other organs.

O’Reily knew the truth, though. Cyril was his brother---he always had been. Blood did not make them a family. Their bond to one another did that. He had stayed silent during dinner and the remainder of their free time before they had to line up for count. The news was hard to hear but he did not know of any other way to treat Cyril but as his little brother---he did not want to treat him as anything else but his little brother. O’Reily crawled into the bottom bunk with his brother after they were locked in for the night.

“Hey, Cyril, do you remember that one time when Dad made us go spend the summer in Indiana on Uncle Bill’s farm?”

“Mm-hmm,” Cyril nodded and his voice was already heavy with sleep.

“It was you, me, and those three neighbor kids in the fields picking beans. And Uncle Bill had made me the foreman, and those three kids decided to quit because they thought I was yelling too much. I think they wanted to go swimming or something like that. And they wanted to take you with them. But instead you decided to, uh, stay with me in the fields until we were finished. I’ve always wondered---did you stay with me because we’re brothers, or did you stay because you’d thought if you tried to leave I’d beat you up?”

He looked over to see that his brother had fallen asleep and was snoring lightly. He remained there for a little while longer before he got up and stood in front of the mirror. It did not matter what anyone said---Cyril was his brother and he was still going to watch out and protect him as he always had. It was his job as a big brother.

O’Reily slipped off his shirt and slid down his pants to get ready for bed. He reached into the pocket and pulled out Alvarez’s words. A small smile was on his face as he looked over the words and then fastened the slip of paper behind the mirror for safekeeping. He would decipher its meaning later. Alvarez was another one. O’Reily had been thinking about him more and more over the past weeks and felt happy to get his note. He was excited to read it, even if it was all in Spanish. He needed to come up with a way to get him out of Solitary so he could put his plans to work.

The gym was noisy the following day as they got free time during the afternoon. Inmates were playing basketball or lifting weights or just talking as the O’Reily brothers were boxing---well, Cyril was at least. His big brother was there coaching him. He was ducking and moving while O’Reily encouraged him.

“One, two, three, four, up, one, two, three, come on,” he said and neither had noticed when Jia Kenmin entered behind them.

“You know, all that time in the Cage, I never got to exercise. Not enough room to move,” he said to his intended target.

“Hey Jia, you know, we’re trying to work out here, man. You want to shut the fuck up?” O’Reily said as he was in no mood to play with the other man.

Kenmin smiled and went back to his warm-up exercises. Cyril stopped and watched him as he performed various karate moves and skills. O’Reily was unimpressed by him and his face showed it. The cumfuck was nothing more than a showoff---and he hated boastful people. He did a handstand and held it for a moment.

“I want to try that,” Cyril blurted out and ran over to him.

“No, stop. Cyril,” O’Reily called back.

Kenmin smiled and said, “You know, I could teach you a lot of things. Better than that bullshit boxing.”

“I want to learn,” Cyril said.

“Okay, there’s this,” Kenmin grabbed his arm and swung him down to the ground.

“Hey, motherfucker!” O’Reily yelled out.

He rushed over to his brother to see if he was all right but Kenmin kicked him and he fell onto the floor. The pain was in his side and felt like fire on his skin but he tried to get up to protect Cyril---he had to protect him. He sat up but saw Cyril jump back to his feet and punch Kenmin hard in the face. He fell quickly and hit his head against the hard concrete of the gym floor. An officer scrambled over to the scene and grabbed on to Cyril to stop him from doing any more damage. O’Reily did the same thing.

“No, Cyril, back! Get back!” he pushed his brother away and told him as the officer tried to restrain him as well.

“He hit you! He hit you!” Cyril screamed.

“Oh, fuck,” O’Reily said when he saw Kenmin was unconscious and that blood was leaking out of his head.

Ryan O’Reily kicked the wall inside his pod but regained himself when he saw that Cyril was looking at him. Kenmin was transferred to Benchley Memorial hospital and was in a coma. The doctors were unsure if he was going to wake up and McManus came to tell them the news that Cyril was being transferred to protective custody for the time being. It was a mistake separating them, but he had exhausted all his options on keeping his brother in Em City at the moment. It had to be this way.

“But I don’t want to go.”

“Cyril, trust me, you have to because, if you don’t, they’re going to send you far, far away from me. And you and I ain’t going to see each other no more,” he said as Cyril began to cry. “Hey, come on man, it’s okay. Take your bag, come on, let’s go.”

He held out the bag for his brother to take it and he did after a while. They looked around the pod to see if he missed anything else before walking out to Em City and the waiting officers. O’Reily felt torn inside and wanted to lock himself and Cyril inside their pod but that was not an option. He had to concede this battle in defeat if he wanted to win the war.

“Hey, Cyril, toughen up, all right?” O’Reily told his little brother as they walked and he saw Arif starting at him. “You got a problem, friend?”

Arif looked away from him and walked upstairs to Said’s pod. Cyril cried more when they had to part at the gates of Em City but O’Reily remained strong for the both of them. He calmed his brother enough for the officers to take him away and went back to his pod. The day had gone to hell and he got onto the top bunk in his pod to think. The Irishman looked over and saw Arif talking to Said but he did not think much or cared about it.

He had been ushered into the interrogation room about an hour later and Warden Glynn was in his face pressuring him about the murder of Patrick Keenan---the man who raped Gloria Nathan when he was on the outside. O’Reily had been blindsided by this revelation but quickly pulled lies to cover his tracks. His manipulation was top notch, after all. After the initial shock of the accusation, he refocused and resigned himself to a specific story. They were never going to pin the murder on him---his hands always remained clean. It was what he did best.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Patrick Keenan was my friend. Whoever told you this bullshit must have it out for me,” he started spinning his web.

“The informant has no motive to lie,” Glynn said.

“Look, warden, when those news people were here, they asked me all about Adebisi’s video tapes and I didn’t say one word.”

“What, you’re expecting a return of the favor?” he asked, looking disgusted.

“Yeah,” O’Reily simply answered.

“Fuck you! I’m going to thoroughly investigate these charges. If I find any corroborating evidence, you’re going to death row. Got that?”

He was dismissed and the look on the warden’s face meant business. He had to find out who the informant was and just what they knew. As far as he knew, there was no one in the gym when he killed Keenan. O’Reily was desperate to escape this place---desperate to have his brother back in their pod. He had to do something dramatic to get to where he needed to be so he crashed onto the floor and closed his eyes. The officer escorting him ran back to check his pulse and then called for backup.

“What happened?” Dr. Nathan asked.

“C.O. said he just collapsed,” a nurse answered but went about her way.

“Ryan, are you okay?”

“Yeah---I just, just needed to talk to you so I faked falling down,” O’Reily said.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dr. Nathan looked at him and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“We need privacy.”

She looked hesitant at first but his eyes convinced her to do it. She told him to go wait in the examination room and that she would be there when the coast was clear. O’Reily walked over to the room and waited for her. He was desperate and was about to ask the impossible. His head was spinning a million revolutions per second first with how to save Cyril and then with making the Patrick Keenan cloud disappear from above his head. Dr. Nathan appeared a few minutes later and closed the door behind her.

“Do you realize this is the first time you and I have ever been alone?” he had to make the moment real.

“I need to get back out there, Ryan, so tell me what’s so important.”

“Everything’s turning to shit, Gloria. There’s a pretty good chance that Cyril’s going to end up in the loony farm and now there’s a chance that I’m going to be convicted for whacking Keenan.”

“What? How?”

“Someone jabbered on me to the warden. It wasn’t you, was it?” O’Reily asked her as he studied her.

“No,” she answered him.

“No, those eyes don’t lie.”

“Go on.”

“I also hear there’s a sizeable chance that you’re going to lose your doctor’s license, which means I’ll never see you again.”

“I know,” Dr. Nathan had a flash of pain in her eyes.

“So I have a proposition to make. Don’t answer me right away. I want you to take the time to really think---about what I’m asking.”

“Which is?”

The Irishman leaned in closer to her and whispered, “I want you to help Cyril and me escape.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **Miguel Alvarez waited patiently for** communication outside of Solitary but was disappointed each day when nothing came with his lunch. He knew it was too good to be true, but he wanted someone to talk to so badly that he depended on the víbora. His bite was far worse than his bark and Alvarez was never one to play with snakes nor had he known how to control them. He waited each day but O’Reily had not been back to deliver food since the last time. Maybe he had gotten into trouble and was in the hole or the cage.

Since Jenkins’s death, the hacks kept the little windows on the doors open more frequently to keep a better eye on the inmates. The room was still confining to him but he had not lied to Father Mukada when he had told him that his mood was stable. Alvarez had not had any flare-ups since shortly returning to Solitary for killing Vasquez and he wanted to keep it that way. He was still a little loco, but he did not wanted to injure himself since being on the medication Dr. Nathan had prescribed him.

It was a mistake to place as much emphasis on the víbora as he did---an especially dangerous mistake. Ryan O’Reily was notoriously known for putting himself first above anything else. He cared about himself and took care of Cyril---but it was because of him that his brother was in Oz in the first place. The Irishman was selfish and devious. Every word he said had been carefully thought out beforehand. In the past, Alvarez had mainly avoided contact with him if he was able because starting a war with him was not a wise decision---especially when El Norte had been willing to betray him at any given second.

“Fucking O’Reily,” he said to no one but himself.

He had not bothered to go to the open window because the bastards out there were pissing him off. Robson and Hughes slung insults at each other almost every second and it was like his own hell. The racist Nazi had a black playmate to tangle with, so he was happy to get to pass the time by acting like an asshole. Hughes was mainly off his rocker since his attempted assassination of Governor Devlin and had no problem throwing gas into Robson’s fire. They were both made for each other in the Latino’s opinion.

Alvarez decided to pass some time by masturbating. It was not exactly the best environment to get into the mood in, with Robson and Hughes constantly shouting at each other, but he was itching for some release. The pills Dr. Nathan gave him had messed with his sex drive a few times before but he was not going to tell her that. It would have made him appear weak and less of a man. His drive would be gone for days but then come back in full force. When he felt his balls churn against the fabric of his boxers, he knew it was back.

When he walked over to the shower with his back facing the window and pulled down his pants, he was already achingly hard and his head was so sensitive to touch. He pulled foreskin back and scraped his finger against the head of his dick. It sent ripples of pleasure throughout his body and he thought about having sex with Maritza. He thought about holding her and touching her intimately and her soft hands roaming around every inch of his exposed flesh. He needed this release.

“Robson, you are one ugly motherfucker!” Hughes maniacally laughed out.

“I don’t see you modeling in Milan, you black bitch,” Robson said as he flipped him the finger through the opening in the door.

“Hey, shut the fuck up! I’m trying to masturbate!” Alvarez yelled because they were killing his mood.

“Fuck you, Alvarez,” Hughes said and went about his rant.

“Quiet!” Officer Smith yelled. “The warden is on deck.”

“Yo, yo, Glynn! I need an appointment,” a few of the inmates screamed out to the warden.

“Hey, Glynn, you get me excited,” Alvarez looked back and smiled when he knew Glynn was looking into his cell. “Why don’t you hold my dick?”

The warden ignored him and went over to Hughes’s cell. It was quiet enough for him to concentrate on Maritza’s hands and her lips and her tongue. She used to use the tip of it to touch his chin and run along the bone of his jaw. Then she came back and went down the other side. Alvarez loved the intimacy as he closed his eyes and stroked his dick---it was begging him for release. He had to use some of his precum as lube because his hands were dry.

Alvarez grunted as he pleasured himself thinking about being that close to someone again. Oz had robbed them of their manhood---they might as well have chopped all their dicks off during processing. He was so horny and lonely and just wanted someone to touch him again. He had sex with a few women when he had escaped and he missed them now more than ever. He missed the closeness that two people were able to feel.

“Uhh---yeah! Fuck!” the Latino muttered under his breath.

His stroking sped up to create a necessary heat between his hand and his dick and it felt as if he was a boy scout trying to start a fire out in the woods without any matches. He bucked his hips back and forth and let out an otherworldly groan as cum erupted from his hypersensitive dick and landed on the shower floor in front of him. Alvarez kept pumping because he was still horny but the satisfaction was too great so he stopped and rested both his hands against the wall to keep himself from falling. It was an intense orgasm and was mainly because he had not pleasured himself in over a week. Solitary was gobbling up his manhood.

 

 **He had called** out to Cyril again to get up and get ready for count and breakfast but he was only talking to himself---again. O’Reily cursed when he realized he was the only one in his pod. He wondered how Cyril was and also how Gloria Nathan was going to answer him. He had tried his best to stay away from the infirmary to give her time to think about his proposition. It was a life-changing decision after all and he did not want to pressure her.

Breakfast went by and the inmates returned to Em City shortly after. He headed immediately to the computer room from his pod when he saw it was unoccupied. O’Reily carefully slid out the piece of paper the loco Latino had written to him and quickly started to look up the words before anyone was able to walk in and notice what he was doing. The Irishman did not know why finding out what the words meant was so important to him, but he found himself thinking about them more as the days passed. He had been lonely since Cyril was taken into protective custody.

He was pissed at Alvarez for making him work this hard to figure out words but he was also intrigued by the concept of them passing notes to one another. O’Reily scribbled down the words in English and bolted back to his pod to read them and write back the appropriate response. He was on delivery duty since Cyril had been taken away. O’Reily had not had the time or the computer room to himself to figure out what the hell the loco Latino was saying. All he had known from reading the note the first time was that Alvarez had called him víbora again. _Viper._

“Hope, huh?” he laughed.

Lunchtime was soon so he had to make a note quickly before he got going. Pancamo and the rest of the Italians were already heading out of Em City so time was limited. He sat on Cyril’s bunk and thought about what to write. He figured it best not to use names, as Alvarez most likely had as well, so that nothing could be traced were any of the notes ever found. He kept them in a safe place though. O’Reily just wrote something quickly and placed it into his pocket before heading out.

**In English, man. That way I don’t have to translate shit and I can get back to you faster. Think, loco.**

The Irishman rushed to the cafeteria and immediately started loading the trays that were finished into the cart to get ready to go. He opened one of the trays and looked at its contents, like he was examining it. And, he realized he was. O’Reily was looking for any hairs or other objects that did not belong on the food tray. When no one was looking, he snuck in a few extra pieces of chicken nuggets and vegetables on the tray, along with the piece of paper, before sealing it back. The tray went of the very bottom of the cart for Alvarez.

The boys in Solitary were acting out---O’Reily suspected it was mainly that babbling idiot, Hughes, so their windows were closed and Officer Smith was adamant in not taking his charm today. He was not going to be able to see or talk to Alvarez today so he slid in the tray carefully as he could and went on with the rest of his deliveries. The place was fucking depressing and a small part of him wondered how the Latino was surviving in there. _Fuck, loco._

He had not expected a reply so soon from Alvarez but, when he was in the kitchen emptying the leftover contents of trays in the garbage, that familiar white strip flagged him. O’Reily scooped up and put it away for later as he emptied the rest of the trays and carried them to wash. He missed having Cyril there to talk to and mess around with as they did their duties in the kitchen together. He missed watching his brother play with the soap bubbles like he was taking a bubble bath. O’Reily heaved a big bag of trash and went over to the dumpster to throw it in.

“What the fuck?” he asked when he saw a bloody hand in the dumpster. “Oh-ho! Shit! Hey, Officer Robinson, you---you might want to come check this out.”

The officer came over and saw the situation and got on his radio, “Central, this is sixteen. We got a forty-four in the cafeteria. Lockdown! Lockdown!”

O’Reily looked over to Supreme Allah as they were being shuffled back to Em City and said, “Tug Daniels is dead.”

They were all locked in their pods as the body was recovered from the dumpster and identified. The look on Supreme Allah’s face when he had told him whose body was in the dumpster made O’Reily smile. The man was worried about his life---so worried that he probably did not have time to think of the murders he and Keller had pinned on him. That was a good sign that the Irishman’s troubles with Allah were about to be over soon. He took out the new note from his pocket and unfolded it.

**That fuck is really driving me loco---he never shuts up! Thanks for the extra food. That’s not cool about your brother, víbora.**

It was as he suspected. Hughes was the one acting out. And Alvarez had found out about Cyril being put in protective custody. For a man in Solitary with a very limited supply of information, he surely kept up with events happening outside. O’Reily had to smile at the last part of the note. It made him feel---different. He brushed it off and was about to write something back when the buzzer rang and the lockdown was lifted. He headed over to the guard tower and Officer Murphy.

“Hey, Officer Murphy. I don’t feel so hot,” he was whispering and stroking his throat.

“What’s the matter now?” Murphy did not hide his skepticism.

“Throat’s sore.”

“Geez, you know, you been getting sick a lot lately.”

“Yeah, it’s been the weather. It’s killing me.”

“Uh-huh. Well, got news for you. Dr. Nathan’s not in today,” the officer told him.

“No?”

“How do you feel now?”

O’Reily put his hand down and stopped whispering, “I want to go see my brother in protective custody.”

“What a shock.”

He followed the officer away to go see his brother. Dr. Nathan was not in and he wondered why---wondered what happened to her. O’Reily almost wanted to ask Murphy but he kept his cards up. The reason would reach him eventually. This prison was a thriving grapevine with a wealth of information for those who knew where to look, and he did. They entered another part of the prison and Murphy left him.

“Ryan!” Cyril called out.

“Hey, Cyril, how you doing there, bro? You okay?”

“When---can I leave here? When can I come back to Emerald City?”

“I don’t know. Dr. Nathan promised that she’d help us out, but she’s gone. So as soon as she comes back, we’re going to work on getting you out of here. God, this place sucks. I know you’re lonely.”

“It’s not so lonely now that Henry’s here,” he gestured to the cell across his own.

“Hi-ya. My name’s Stanton---Henry Stanton. You’re Ryan, right? Cyril’s told me all about you,” the man from across the cell greeted.

O’Reily turned back to Cyril and said, “What’d you say?”

“Oh, nothing incriminating,” Stanton answered.

“Well that’s good, you know, because I figure, guys in protective custody then, well---he must’ve, what? Ratted on his friends?”

“Nah. No. Some Aryan threatened to separate me from my genitals so the warden thought a timeout might ease the tension.”

“Don’t be telling nobody our business, okay?” O’Reily seriously told his brother.

“I don’t. But Henry’s nice.”

“I like your brother,” Stanton said.

“Hey! Henry, do you mind? I’m trying to have a private conversation over here,” the Irishman snapped at him.

“Hey! Knock yourself out.”

O’Reily ignored him and focused his attention back on Cyril. He kept the name in his mind though---for later. His brother seemed to be doing well in protective custody. He was coloring and generally seemed okay. He spoke about the things he and Stanton talked about---it was all rather harmless, but O’Reily knew better than to let his guard down in Oz. He told Cyril again not to discuss their business with anyone before the officer came to take him off to dinner duty.

He was late and Pancamo gave him that stare again so he quickly got straight to work. Most of the inmates were already eating and he went back into the food cage to get the list of things they needed for the next delivery. They were running low on supplies but one truck was scheduled to come in tomorrow. O’Reily checked through the list as he walked around the large pantry and was writing stuff down.

An idea jumped into his mind and he looked around to see if he was alone. Behind several giant cans of cranberry sauce---no one ever ate the stuff, was a wealth of contraband food items that had been snuck into Oz. There were things ranging from Gatorade bottles to Twix bars---the Italians sold it to whoever could afford it. O’Reily reached his hand far behind, knowing exactly what he was looking for. He had just slipped the item into his pocket and securely replaced the cans of cranberry sauce when he felt a hand rub against the back of his thigh, under his ass.

“Oh, Jesus. What do you want?”

“Just because we’re not fucking anymore doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends,” Howell wanted a response from him.

“Yeah, right,” he was uninterested.

“I hear they’re shipping your brother off to the loony bin.”

“Yeah, because of you accusing him of attacking you without provocation,” O’Reily said and he was getting angry.

“I was being neighborly. He hit me with a tray,” the ugly hack almost wanted to laugh at him.

“Neighborly? Right.”

“Here’s the deal. I’ll tell the warden not to send Cyril away if you tell Cyril he should let me fuck him.”

“What?” O’Reily wanted to strangle her right there.

“I want to fuck your brother.”

“Uh-uh. No chance. I don’t want you going anywhere near my brother,” he aggressively warned the dyke.

“Okay, but if I don’t get anywhere near him, you won’t get anywhere hear him, either,” Howell taunted him.

“You know what, Howell? You’re one sick fucking bitch.”

Her words stuck to him as he paced his pod late at night. If Cyril went to Conley, they would never see each other again. Dr. Nathan taking the day off had him worried as well. He was unsure of the time but he knew it was late into the night, or possibly early into the morning. O’Reily went to the door and looked out at the quad as he thought of a way to take Howell out of commission---at least until the issues with Cyril blew over. A smile adorned his face when something came to him.

Still, after forming a plan to deal with his situation with the ugly hack, he was not able to fall asleep. Then he thought of Alvarez and remembered he had to write him back. He dropped down and looked for his pants in the dark. Its pocket revealed the note and he retrieved it before he grabbed a notebook and headed back up to his bunk. O’Reily opened it and read as he thought of possible responses. He was going to do something nice for someone without expecting anything in return. It was unlike him---and especially so in this hellhole.

**How’d you hear about him? Saw him today---he looked good. I fucking hate his place! You like grape, loco?**

The Irishman quickly placed trays onto the cart because he was anxious to start his rounds. Pancamo was all over him so he just wanted to load up all the trays and get out of there. And, he wanted his plans for Howell to take flight. She was never going to get her hands on his brother. He was going to kill her before that ever happened. O’Reily finished loading the last of the trays and headed off to Unit J first. The first step had to be made to control the cunt of a hack.

“Deputy Dog, arroooww!” he announced himself by howling like a wolf.

“O’Reily, it’s about time, I’m famished,” Yood said.

“Things are pretty quiet in Unit J these days, huh?”

“Well with Basil dead, Hughes in Solitary, it’s just me and her Highness,” he motioned to the ugly hack, who was on the phone in the office.

“You don’t like Howell?” O’Reily asked, as seeds began to be sewn.

“It’s like being shackled to the bride of Frankenstein,” he laughed.

“Hey, Alvin, old pal. How’d you like some extra vittles? I’m talking chocolate bars, Newman’s Own popcorn for that microwave of yours.”

“Sure.”

“All you have to do is just, you know, make sure that Howell has a little accident.”

Yood looked at him and firmly said, “I’m no killer.”

“No, no, no,” the Irishman stopped him. “I’ not saying kill. I’m talking maybe a busted leg, arm---just something to take her out of commission for a week or two.”

Howell entered and barked, “You about done, O’Reily?”

“Oh yeah, I’m done.”

He shot Yood a passing smile as he rolled the cart out of Unit J and towards Solitary. Getting Howell out of the way for a few weeks was easily worth some candy bars and bags of popcorn. The glint in Yood’s eyes said that he was contemplating the offer, but O’Reily had already read him---he was going to do it. How the former cop was going to accomplish it he was unsure of but he did not care. He was going to be rid of her for the time being.

O’Reily rushed over to Solitary and stopped down the hallway before the entrance just as he had done before. He slid out a tray and opened it to place his note neatly inside for Alvarez. He looked back to make sure he was alone before he reached into the front pant pocket of his kitchen whites to retrieve the grape blow pop he had stolen from the Italian stash. He remembered many times in the past where he had seen a lollipop wrapped around the Latino’s lips. He sometimes sucked on it as if he was kissing it---or making love to it. O’Reily replaced the tray and pushed forward.

The Irishman sat in his pod after lunchtime and thought about Alvarez. Their note passing had become a great amusement to him and he found himself more and more looking forward to what the loco Latino had to say with each new note. He had given him the blow pop because he had wanted to, not because he had wanted something in return or it had been some kind of master plan. It was a genuine act of kindness without any strings attached---and that was rare in Oz. It was even rarer that it came from someone like Ryan O’Reily. He laughed at the thought of Alvarez sucking the pop in Solitary when someone approached his pod. The thoughts quickly hid themselves away and it was back to business as usual.

“Howell broke her pelvis,” Liam Meaney, a fellow Irish, informed him.

“Oh, sweet,” he was not able to contain his excitement.

“And she’ll be laid up for a while.”

“Oh, I’m just crying invisible tears.”

“Heh heh.”

“How’s your new cellmate?” O’Reily asked.

“Oh. Connolly’s an ass. Says I’m not true Irish.”

“He tried to pull that same line of shit with me. Don’t worry, he’ll come around. Hey, Liam, check on a guy named Henry Stanton. He’s down in protective custody with Cyril.”

“No problem.”

The grunt was gone. He liked Meaney, but the kid was young and inexperienced so he had to learn to ropes. He looked up to O’Reily and did whatever he asked without much convincing so he was the perfect foot soldier. The problem was that the Irishman did not want a grunt. He wanted a powerful ally that was going to bring as much to the table as he did. But, he had to resign himself to dealing with Meaney and find a way to get through to Connolly. Pancamo opened the door to his pod a few minutes later.

“The truck just came in. Inventory time, spud,” the muscular Italian said.

“Fuck you, dago.”

O’Reily walked around the food cage and browsed the list he had attached to a clipboard, checking off the new inventory. Pancamo was busy setting up the kitchen for later so he mainly left him alone. He worked his way through all the newly brought food supplies and went back to the same large cans of cranberry sauce and to the hole in the wall that was concealed behind them. O’Reily picked up a red one and stored it away before he heard sounds coming from the side room and went to see what was going on.

“Hey! What the fuck is going on here?” he yelled as he saw Timmy Kirk and Jim Burns drag Padraig Connolly into the room and started to beat him.

“Keep away, O’Reily, this is none of your concern,” Kirk said.

“I see two pussy Bible-belters wailing on a fellow Catholic. Yeah, that’s my concern.”

“Come on, motherfucker,” Burns approached him.

“I’m not going to swing on you, Burns. Not yet. I have God on my side,” O'Reily said because he saw Cloutier enter and looking upset once he noticed them.

“Kirk, you meet me in the library. Burns, I’ll talk to you later,” Cloutier said and then looked at Connolly. “My apologies, sir.”

O’Reily walked over to help him up after the other three men left. He was a little bruised and banged up, but it was nothing too serious. Connolly thanked him and O’Reily told him to wait for him in the upper tier of Em City. He nodded and left as the Irishman quickly went back to the food cage to finish his work. This could not have worked out better if he had planned it himself.

Connolly and Meany were in front of their pod when he entered Em City. He hopped up the stairs and grabbed a table for the three of them so that he could learn more about the man. The terrorist spoke about how he was going to get out of here as well as his past experiences with violence. It was progress geared towards O’Reily’s greater good.

“In 1972, fourteen Catholics were slaughtered,” he said.

“What did they do?” Meaney asked.

“They committed the hideous crime of walking down a road. My mother ran out onto the street and grabbed the neighbor’s son out of the stampede. The entire time, a British soldier was holding an L-1 A-1 to her head. He yelled on at her to get back. She didn’t and he fired,” Connolly said.

“Oh, shit,” O’Reily said as he listened.

“We all call that day Bloody Sunday,” he said as the buzzer sounded around them.

“Oh, it’s visiting time. I got to go,” the Irishman said to the two of them.

“Who’s coming?” Meaney asked.

“My mom.”

“You treat your mother right, Ryan?” Connolly asked as he looked at him.

“We’ve been separated since I was a baby---we only just found each other but, yeah. I treat her right.”

He sat in the visitor’s room and listened to his mother talk about life with his asshole of a father. He had not worked up the courage to ask the questions the really wanted to, but it would get there eventually. Suzanne Fitzgerald smiled at him as if she knew what was on his mind. Her smile was so warm and motherly.

“I know you wonder why I left. And each time I’ve come to visit you I’ve wanted to tell you the whole story but---” she said but stopped.

“Hey, tell me now.”

“The sixties were a mixed up time. We were living in a cold-water flat near the University and while I did what wives did in those days, outside the streets were on fire with protest.”

“The Vietnam war,” he said.

“Yeah. I would carry you out into the crowd and listen to the speeches and then one day something just clicked and I had to join. I had to leave.”

“Yeah, but---but why didn’t---why didn’t you take me with you?” O’Reily asked the question he had wanted to since they met.

“Well, because my friends fought for peace. We armed ourselves. We were militant.”

“And someone got killed?”

“Yeah,” his mother replied sadly. “And I ran. And I kept running.”

“Jesus.”

“And so, now, after thirty-five years I’ve decided to stop the marathon. I’m going to turn myself in,” she told her son.

“But what will happen?” O’Reily grew concerned and asked.

“I don’t know what’ll happen to me and I don’t know if I’ll go to prison, but I wanted to see you again and spend a few hours with you and get to know you a little before whatever happens does happen,” she rested her hand on his and said.

“No. No, no. No, I can’t lose you now. Not after all these years. Fuck that. Don’t give yourself up.”

“I have to, Ryan. I’m no good to you unless I’m true to who I am.”

“Fuck,” O’Reily said and was hesitant. “Look, I wasn’t going to tell you this, at least, not yet. What if I told you I can fix it so we can be together?”

“What do you mean?” Suzanne Fitzgerald’s eyes grew with curiosity.

“A friend of mine is going to help me and Cyril escape.”

“No Ryan. Don’t do that.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because you’ll have to spend the rest of your life doing what I’ve done---lying and hiding and living in fear and denying who you are and that’s a life without meaning and a life without meaning is no life at all,” she held his hand and told him as the buzzer sounded.

“Visit’s over, O’Reily,” the guard told him.

“Mom,” O’Reily said as he hugged her tightly.

“You called me ‘mom’,” she happily said. “I love you, Ryan. I always have and I always will.”

“Bye,” he let go of her hand.

“Bye.”

“Fuck.”

He watched her disappear from the room and cursed again. She did not want him escaping but he had limited options left. He had to protect Cyril. Constantly running was not going to be such a bad thing---and he knew he would never get the urge to turn himself in like she did. It was all contingent on Dr. Nathan helping them. The stakes were so high and O’Reily could not afford to lose.

Later in the afternoon, he convinced Murphy to let him go see Dr. Nathan. He had given her a few days to think about what he said and he wanted an answer now. Most of the patients in the ward were calm and silent and the nurse had gone to the lounge to get coffee so O’Reily walked into her office and closed the door behind him.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey. How’s Cyril?” Dr. Nathan asked.

“Well, he’s a little anxious to get out of protective custody but he’s okay. Hey, did you, um, did you give any more thought to what we talked about?”

“Any thought? Your little proposition had me sleepless for three nights,” she confessed.

“And what have you decided?”

Dr. Nathan went in her lab coat pocket and pulled out the shamrock necklace that had belonged to Patrick Keenan and said, “Here.”

“Why are you giving me this?” O’Reily looked confused.

“Ten minutes ago, the warden asked me if I knew anything about Keenan’s death.”

“What?”

“I lied and said ‘no’.”

“Oh, man. Thank Christ.”

“Ryan, as we speak the medical board is deliberating whether or not I’m qualified to hold this job. They’re questioning my ethics, okay,” she said with hurt in her voice. “My initial reaction was: ‘How can they do that?’ But you know what? Now I’m questioning my ethics.”

“Look, love is more important than ethics,” he said to her.

“Well, now, how would you know what? I mean your ethics, what few you have, are completely screwed up.”

“Whoa---why the fuck are you doing this?” O’Reily was offended and angry by her comments.

“I should tell Leo you beat Keenan to death,” she was struggling to keep her emotions in check. “I should do it. But I won’t. God help me.”

“Hey, Gloria,” he tried to reach out for her arm but she pulled away.

“I’m not going to help you escape. Do you understand that? I will not do it. And if you ask me again, I will tell the warden everything. Officer, we’re done here.”

“I do have ethics. And they’re not screwed up.”

A small part of him expected she was going to say no---it was in her nature as the honest person she was. O’Reily did not fault her this---her honesty was one of the things he loved about her. But, he had begun to feel that love straining with everything that was going on with Cyril and now his mother. He was always going to be grateful that she had saved his life, however. She had protected him when he was not able to do it himself.

O’Reily returned to Em City and went for the computer room to get his mind away from Gloria’s bombshell announcement. He was counting on her to take him and Cyril away but the plan fell apart before it got off the ground. He started looking up the events that Connolly had described to him and Meaney before Suzanne Fitzgerald came to visit him. O’Reily left and walked upstairs to Connolly’s pod when Hill and Poet came into the computer room.

“What do you want?” Connolly asked when O’Reily entered.

“I’ve been on the computer, reading about the troubles. It’s not at all about God---it’s about the money. It’s about the Protestants taking Catholic land. How could you not hate the British? I mean, if you got any balls at all then you’d better be IRA. You know, fighting for what’s rightfully yours.”

“And what good does your newfound knowledge and all this enthusiasm do for either of us?”

“I want to be a part of something. Something that matters,” O’Reily said but Connolly laughed at him. “Don’t laugh at me, Connolly. Hey, everyone knows I get things done. That’s my talent. Let me help you do something for the cause, hm?”

“All right. I know what we should do.”

He followed Connolly out of his pod and they went down to the laundry room. O’Reily had no idea what was going on and they had to wait a few minutes before everyone else had cleared out of the room. Connolly instructed him to gather up some supplies and he did so. The Irishman still was not able to get a read on what was going on.

“Hey. Two gallons of bleach,” O’Reily rested them on top of the table.

“Good.”

“All your whites are clean so, uh, you going to tell me now why you need this stuff so bad?”

“Can you get me a wristwatch?” Connolly ignored him and went on.

“Wristwatch? Why?” O’Reily asked but Connolly quickly pushed him against the washer and in no time had a knife pressed against his throat. “Connolly, what the fuck are you doing?”

He smiled diabolically and asked, “Would you be willing to die with me? Would you? Bleach and the wristwatch are part of my grand scheme.”

“Which is what?” O’Reily said and was weary of the blade puncturing into his neck.

“To make a bomb. You and me, O’Reily. We’re going to blow up Em City.”

A strange sense of power surged through O’Reily as he heard what Connolly was planning. The man had since retracted his blade and took the supplies they had gathered out of the laundry room and left him alone. He watched Connolly leave and wondered if this was really going to happen. It was farfetched and crazy but Connolly was not working with a full deck of cards in his head. An officer banged on the glass, notifying him that count was soon.

Inside his pod, every ounce of his blood felt exhilarated at the prospect of building a bomb to go off inside Em City. He looked over at Connolly’s pod but saw nothing. O’Reily stripped out of his clothes to get ready for bed. He found himself sleeping naked more, now that there no one was in his pod and then he remembered he had things in pockets. He searched through them to get the slip of paper from Alvarez and dug into the other one to get the cherry blow pop he stole earlier from under Pancamo’s nose. The Irishman hopped his naked frame into bed and put the lollipop under his pillow for safekeeping before he folded open the Latino’s note and read it again.

**Cherry, Irish. It’s all about the cherry. But thanks. I heard Smith talking to someone about it. The hacks pass information just as fast as the inmates do.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**The hacks gossip like a bunch of giggling bitches. I’m about to do something bad, loco. And I think it’s the right move to make---for everyone. Cherry it is, then.**

The kitchen was buzzing for breakfast as inmates crowded in to eat. A plan was about to go down and, for once, he had no part of it---not a hand. O’Reily reserved his spot at the end of the serving line and passed out sausage patties to his fellow inmates. He waited patiently for the one person he really wanted to serve because, then, part of his problem would be gone forever. The line grew shorter and the victim appeared.

“Eat hearty,” the Irishman said as he dropped two sausage patties on Supreme Allah’s tray.

Allah shot him a piercing look and went to sit by Hill---he began eating right away. Only a few people knew where to look in the cafeteria. O’Reily knew, as did Hill and Poet, and most likely Redding. Their collective eyes were on Allah as he ate and immediately saw when it started to work---when the deadly allergy started to overtake his body and slowly kill him. He coughed up the sausage patty and fell to the floor as his throat closed up and the life essence was drained from his body.

With Allah dead, neither O’Reily nor Keller had to worry about him coming after them anymore for pinning two murders on him. Today was already a good day and he really did manage to keep his hands clean this time---as clean as they could get in Oz anyway. He knew Allah was highly allergic to the eggs that were surprisingly mixed into the sausage patties that were being served today. But, no one knew he knew of the plan to poison Supreme Allah that way and O’Reily was fine keeping his name out of peoples’ mouths.

Ryan O’Reily was anxious and had been so for the past few days. He was not able to get much sleep at night and spent most of his time in Connolly’s cell putting the pieces of the bomb together. Connolly really was a prisoner of circumstance, but he was never going to be left alone---and he knew it. He had sent Meaney out on menial tasks so they had the pod to themselves. Neither McManus nor Murphy noticed or showed interest in their spending time together. They were staying out of trouble---for now.

“When is the wristwatch coming?” Connolly asked.

“Should be today. I asked my Aunt Brenda to get me one. It’s too early for the mail yet.”

“It should be completed after that.”

“Porg, how far will the blast go?”

“Contained in Em City.”

“All right. Hey, I got to go take care of some business,” O’Reily said to him. “Don’t want McManus taking notice of us now.”

“Yeah. Later.”

He left the pod and felt an odd sensation within him. He wanted to see Dr. Nathan, but she was inaccessible at the moment. More than anything, the Irishman just wanted someone to talk to about this bomb. It was clear that both he and Connolly had different reasons for wanting the explosion to go off and it was too late to back out now---not when they had come so far. O’Reily went down into his pod to think.

Pancamo had shifted him from deliveries back to the line the day after Connolly had held him at knifepoint in the laundry room and had told him about the bomb so he had not been able to correspond with Alvarez since then. He had given him the note he had written the night before along with the cherry blow pop but that was it. O’Reily was not able to get to Solitary on his own over the past two days and exchanging notes without the disguise of food delivery was next to impossible. He missed the notes.

Later in the afternoon, a large group of inmates gathered around the TV waiting for _Up Your Ante_ to come on. O’Reily never liked the show and Beecher seemed to know all the answers. It was annoying to watch it with him around. Keller needed to come back so the know-it-all would be on his knees with his mouth full---that way, he would be unable to give any answers. O’Reily shuddered at the thought of them being together like that.

“For the second straight week, we have a new contestant and a new celebrity, in fact, the man who’s been let out of jail especially for the job---Tim McManus,” the announcer of the show said as laughter and boos came from the crowd in Em City.

“Oh shit, look at that---fucking McManus starring up on TV,” White said.

The announcer went on with, “And I want to introduce now a young star today. He’s the other Tony Soprano, Robert Arlow. Robert---thank you for coming.”

“We got to get cable, man. We are missing out on all the good shit,” Poet said.

“Ay, yo, I hear the women on _Sex and the City_ are hot, son. Hot!” Hill said with extra emphasis on the word hot.

O’Reily leaned in from behind him and said, “I’d fuck that Sarah whatever her name is, man.”

“Will you guys just shut the fuck up, please! Shit!” White yelled.

“We start off with ten dollars and the category today Tim is vocabulary and the question is, ‘What is a tittle?’” the announcer said.

McManus smiled and said, “I think I know this. I’m going to humor you---I’m going to ask for a hint. Did you cover this in sixth grade English, Robert?”

“Well first off, I’m in high school, and yeah, they did cover this---in third grade.”

“Would you like to give him a hint, Robert?” the announcer said.

“It comes with crosses on t’s,” Robert said.

“I saw a show where they were discussing tittles and, uh, it wasn’t punctuation,” McManus said.

“Yeah, it’s not punctuation---it’s a diacritical mark,” Robert answered back.

“The kid’s right,” Beecher said.

O’Reily was not even paying attention to the TV anymore. This bomb was heavy inside his mind and he felt tired because he had been practically sleep deprived. And he was worried about Cyril and that Stanton guy in protective custody. He also did not know if his mother had turned herself in yet. And passing notes with Alvarez had become a great source of entertainment to him. He had to figure out a way to get back on delivery duty.

McManus said, “You’re a good guy, Robert, but I’ve been around a little longer. Tittle---breast implant.”

“Leave it to McManus to go for breasts,” Pancamo laughed.

“No, in fact, it is the dot above an ‘I’,” the announcer said and everyone in Em City laughed.

“I always knew McManus was an idiot---now everybody else does too,” Guerra said to Morales.

“Yo, man, don’t be fucking dogging McManus out, all right,” White defensively said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, White. I forgot you’ve been sucking his cock these days.”

“I’m not sucking his cock, faggot,” White said angrily.

“Then, you must be taking it up the ass,” Guerra said and the inmates laughed.

“Oh!” Pancamo grinned.

White jumped out of his chair and charged towards Guerra punching and screaming. Guerra felt a hard hit against his face as the buzzers went off. Many of the inmates jumped up and stepped back to stay clear of the chaos. Pedro Caulderon, a member of El Norte, charged at White to get him off Guerra. White spun around, grabbed his shirt, and ran him right into one of the large TVs.

“Oh shit!” O’Reily said as half of Caulderon’s body was inside the shattered TV.

“Motherfucker! Motherfucker!” White screamed as two officers grabbed and tried to restrain him.

“Central, this is eleven---we got a sixty-six,” Murphy spoke into his radio as he ran down the stairs.

“Fuck, man! Fuck! Motherfucker!” White yelled as he was being restrained.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Murphy said to White and the officers holding him as he kept Guerra against a table.

O’Reily looked on as they took White to McManus’s office and officers got Caulderon’s body out of the smashed television. Blood and glass was everywhere on his head and face---the site was gruesome. The Irishman did not want to be there when more hacks came so he disappeared into his pod. He noticed that during the fight, Morales never lifted a finger to help either Guerra or Caulderon. The bastard just stood there and did nothing.

Despite the fight, and subsequent death, that had happened in the quad, the warden had replaced the TV and had gotten cable hooked up over the next few days. A crowd of inmates gathered around the TVs and cheered as the girls of _G String Divas_ came on and danced for them. O’Reily looked but did not get excited because he knew it was going to be impossible to have sex with beautiful women like that in Oz. All he had to pick from was the ugly hack Howell---and he would rather use his hand or become celibate before he fucked her again.

“O’Reily,” an inmate delivering mail called to him. “O’Reily!”

“What?” he spun his head back and barked.

The inmate handed him a package he already knew the contents of. Aunt Brenda had been a little late but she came though. O’Reily held the package in his hands and bolted up the stairs to Connolly’s pod. The final piece of their plan was about to fall into place and exhilarating nerves took over his body. He entered Connolly’s pod and tossed the package to him.

“That’s the wristwatch?”

“Yeah,” O’Reily confirmed.

“Last piece we need for the bomb.”

“We’re going to detonate during rec hour?”

Connolly tore the package open and replied, “Best time. The gymnasium won’t take the blast, being so far from Em City.”

“You sure about this?”

“The U.S. government made me a prisoner of war. I’m being sent back to England for purely political reasons and that’s wrong. So, we have to act. Will our single date create change? Maybe---probably not.”

O’Reily asked, “So, then, you’re saying---it’s not the battle but the war?”

“I’m saying, whether we ever win the war, is for God to decide. For man, there’s only fighting,” he said as he started playing with the watch.

“Fight for fighting’s sake. That’s fucked up, man.”

“No. Fighting, because injustice must always be met head on. Live like that, we may not win but we ensure we never, ever lose,” Connolly said, and his reasons for wanting the bomb detonated got more intense.

He left Connolly alone to attach the timer to the bomb and went downstairs to wait by the entrance gates. Murphy had told him earlier that Dr. Nathan had pulled strings to get Cyril back in Em City and he was happy to see his baby brother come back---and that he was away from Stanton. O’Reily waited impatiently at the gates until he heard that familiar buzzer.

“Ryan!” Cyril excitedly said as he hugged his brother.

“Hey, kid. You all right?” 

Cyril nodded and O’Reily picked up his backpack and they walked into Em City and to the pod. It started to click in his mind, but he brushed it away and helped his brother settle back into life here. Dr. Nathan had done this for him---made this happen. The Irishman smiled at the thought of her and her caring persona. Cyril shaking his hand and asking him if he could go to the quad to watch TV quickly brought him back. He sat down and O’Reily nodded at Rebadow to look after him.

He had to see Dr. Nathan so he asked Murphy for a favor. After some convincing, the officer finally allowed him to leave Em City to see her. O’Reily was feeling something bubbling up inside his stomach but chalked it up the bad food they had to eat or indigestion. He walked into the infirmary and saw the doctor was in the lab sorting pills. The door opened and closed behind her.

“Hey. I can’t thank you enough for getting Cyril sent back to me,” O’Reily got close enough to her so that she could hear is whisper.

“I didn’t transfer him for you, Ryan. I did it because it’s the right thing to do.”

“No, I know that, you know, because you always do the right thing---the moral thing. That’s why I love you. Kiss me,” he requested but then moved in and did it for himself.

Dr. Nathan remained there for only a few seconds before she pulled back and said, “Officer. Um, take O’Reily back to Em City.”

O’Reily touched her hand and said, “I didn’t mean to upset you, you know. All I meant to say was I got a real reason to live now---every reason.”

The officer escorted him out of the lab and back and he had finally realized what the feeling in the pit of his stomach was. He had finally realized why he was barely able to sleep at night. It was regret and his instincts telling him to abort the plan. This bomb was going to destroy Em City and many lives in the process. Connolly was sure that the blast was going to be contained to Em City, but O’Reily could not afford to take that chance anymore. It was a risk that was too high for a reward he knew he did not want anymore. He had people in here he cared about. _Cyril. Gloria. Loco._

Later in the kitchen, O’Reily’s mind was everywhere as the crew organized dinner. His brain was scattered into a million tiny thoughts of how wrong and unnecessary the destruction was. The whole prison could possibly collapse because Connolly misjudged the strength of the bomb. He turned the gas on the stove and was about to strike a match to light it when he saw the terrorist move past the line to collect his food. O’Reily left the stove behind and chased after him through the line.

“Hey, we got to talk. Look, we got to call this operation off,” he said.

“For fuck’s sake, keep your voice down. We’ll discuss this later,” Connolly told him in an irritated tone.

“No, later is going to be too late. We’re going to end up killing a lot of people that shouldn’t have to die,” O’Reily was adamant.

“We’ve been through this---Em City will be nearly empty and I’ll get word to the COs. They’ll have five minutes before their evacuation.”

“No, what if the hacks don’t act fast enough?”

“I can’t control that.”

“What if the blast spreads to other areas, other cellblocks, maybe even the hospital---the visiting rooms?” he was desperate to get his point across.

“There’s nothing else can be done.”

Connolly moved past him and took a seat at the empty table in the corner behind him. O’Reily was starting to lose his patience and the time was getting closer. It was not supposed to happen this way. Most of the lives in here, including his own, did not mean shit, but the officers, the staff, and the warden did not deserve this. None of them were considered dangerous or were criminally insane murders. They were understanding, like Sister Pete, and warm, like Dr. Nathan.

O’Reily turned to him and said, “No. Look, I’ve---I’ve killed anybody for just about anything, so I’m not going to try and get all high and mighty on you. I know that this mission makes sense to you, but for me, I see what we’re about to do and for the first time in my miserable fucking life, I feel like I finally understand.”

“Understand---understand what?”

“Our actions, they make us who we are and up to now, my actions don’t amount to a pile of shit. Jesus Christ, Porg, I got a brother, and even a woman inside these walls who believe in me,” O’Reily got an intense look in his eyes as he talked. “They believed in me when I gave them nothing to believe in.”

“One hour from now, we’re going to complete out mission,” Connolly coolly said.

“Fuck you!” he angrily snorted and started to walk away.

“What are you doing?”

O’Reily turned back, “Look, I’ve always been the guy who walked tall, held his head high, but that’s always been a move---for show. For once, I’m going to earn the right to walk that way.”

Their eyes connected for a moment before the Irishman turned away from him and walked across the cafeteria. He had to stop this madness by any means necessary. There were people he had to think about---put first above himself right now. O’Reily was not going to be selfish or make excuses for his actions. This bomb had to be disarmed. He walked over to the guard who was blocking the exit to the cafeteria.

“Hey, excuse me, I need to go back to Em City---I got an emergency.”

“O’Reily, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Pancamo walked up to him and yelled. “You left the fucking gas on again.”

“Then turn it off!” he yelled back and bolted out of the cafeteria.

“No, you turn it off! Where are you going? Ay, I ain’t going to do your fucking job for you!”

He heard Pancamo screaming behind him but he did not care as he ran to Em City to try to prevent a huge mess he was partially responsible for in the first place. It was not the prison’s fault he was incarcerated. It was not McManus’s fault that he had chosen to go on a drug-induced reckless joyride and killed those people. O’Reily felt that by doing this, he was taking some responsibility for the bad things he had done in his life. He was not, and never would be, a saint, but watching this many innocent people suffer or die made him sick.

Connolly ran past numerous inmates when they came back from the cafeteria and went straight for the stairs. He had kept staring at O’Reily after their conversation in the cafeteria until after he sped off towards Em City. The plan had come too far to be aborted now. He jumped the stairs two at a time and ran over to enter his pod. O’Reily was on the top bunk where he was carefully taking their constructed bomb down from the ceiling.

“Uh-uh, no,” he said when he heard the door open. “I’m taking this fucking bomb to the hacks.”

Connolly said, “Relax, Ryan. Took me a minute but what you said in the cafeteria is starting to penetrate this thick skull of mine.”

“Yeah?” O’Reily hopped down from the bunk and rested the bomb on the bed. “Jesus, look, that’s good, Porg because you know, we could still fight the good fight. We just got to figure out a different way to do it, all right?”

“Careful,” he said when the bomb started to move on the bed. “Did you shut off the time delay?”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Give me it,” Connolly said as he got the bomb and started to tamper with the wristwatch attached to it.

“Wow, hey---what are you doing?”

“What must be done. You have two minutes,” Connolly said as he ran out of the pod with the bomb clutched in his hands.

“No---Porg. Fuck!” O’Reily cursed as he ran out the pod too and started yelling. “Cyril, beat it! McManus! McManus---Murphy, he’s got a bomb!”

McManus entered the second floor with Murphy through the back stairs and said, “Huh?”

“Down there---Connolly’s got a bomb!” he yelled and pointed as Connolly quickly walked down the stairs and to the center of the quad.

The prisoners looked on until someone screamed out, “He’s got a bomb---fucking Connolly’s got a bomb!”

Buzzers immediately started ringing and an uproar of panic swept over Em City as prisoners ran for their lives to the gate. The fear was real and there really was no turning back now. Screams and shouts were heard from the entrance gate of Em City---prisoners begged and demanded to be let out and started pushing each other against the gate to try to force it down. It was no use and they all were frantic and fearful for their lives. There were no enemies here and no grudges mattered at this time---only survival.

He had failed. The fear was alive running rampant through Emerald City as prisoners were still screaming and some were crying. He did this. O’Reily caused this massacre and now Em City was going to be destroyed---probably the whole prison was going to collapse onto itself after the explosion. It was not supposed to be this way---this was not the plan. He walked down the main stairs close to McManus, Murphy, and a few officers as they tried to get closer to Connolly.

“Porg---put the bomb down,” McManus calmly and slowly said as they all walked in a group closer to him. “Put it down. Let’s talk.”

“One minute fifteen,” Connolly shouted out.

“Fuck! Ah, you---you check the computer room. You three, make sure every fucking pod is empty!” McManus ordered when they got to the ground floor.

“Open the gate!” Murphy called into his radio and the buzzer sounded before prisoners started empting out of Em City.

“Hey, Porg---Porg, cut those wires,” O’Reily ran up close to him and said.

“There’s no turning back. Less than a minute---you should go,” Connolly somberly said.

“No, just---just---just put it down and we’ll both go.”

“A foreign army still occupies Irish streets.”

“That’s all the more reason for you to stay alive, remember, to fight---remember?” O’Reily wanted and frantically tried to get through to him.

“I have no illusions about what I’ve faced back in England, and not die on their soil. I end here,” his voice cracked.

“O’Reily, come on, let’s go!” Murphy yelled to him.

“Twenty seconds.”

“Ryan!” he heard Cyril’s voice from somewhere.

“God damn you, Porg!” O’Reily said as he ran towards the opened gate.

“Move it!” Murphy told the rest of the officers.

They all scattered from the quad and ran for cover outside Em City. Beyond the gate, they waited behind the wall for what was to come. O’Reily’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest and his skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat. His mouth was dry and his stomach felt weak as he waited for the end in the presence of McManus, Murphy and a couple of other officers. O’Reily used the wall for support behind him because his body felt like it was going to give out on him. He had needed to lean into it for support. He had failed.

“Ten seconds,” Connolly shouted out to the empty Emerald City and then started to pray in silence. “Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

Ryan O’Reily pressed his head against the wall and closed his eyes as he muttered to himself, “Fuck! Cyril---Gloria---Alvarez.”

Connolly watched and gripped the bomb tightly to his chest as the wristwatch slowly counted down to zero. He closed his eyes and held on to the bomb, waiting for the explosion to come and take him and Em City away. The timer kept beeping as zero came and went and Connolly opened his eyes to see that nothing had happened. He lifted the bomb over his head and threw it hard to the ground, hoping the impact would trigger the explosion. Nothing happened. Connolly looked at the bomb on the ground and kicked it.

“Christ Almighty.”

O’Reily opened his eyes and saw that the S.O.R.T. team was making their way over to them. Something had to have gone wrong because the bomb should have detonated by now. His mind was reeling with possibilities as the team was getting into place in preparation for the worst. The Irishman peeked out from behind the wall over to the quad and saw the bomb was on the floor and Connolly had kicked it again.

“Fucking piece of shit!” Connolly said as he kicked it.

O’Reily was braver and looked out more before he said, “It’s a dud. It’s a fucking dud!”

“Go get him!” McManus angrily said.

The S.O.R.T. team cautiously proceeded through the gate as O’Reily came out from behind the wall and watched them as they approached the man with their shields up. A small part of him felt bad, but he tried to talk Connolly out of going down this road. He had the look of defeat on his face at the team took him down to the ground and confiscated the bomb. McManus and Murphy came out and stood by him as the team did their work. O’Reily’s insides were confused during what he thought were his last moments alive. He had thought about Miguel Alvarez.

Everything had returned to normal later that night after Em City had been repopulated and now it was lights out. Guards roamed around the lonely and darkened hallways of the prison that had almost crashed into the ground today. The air was still and cold in the cafeteria as a guard did his nightly sweep to check if anything was out of place. He withdrew a cigarette from its pack and clamped it against his lips. He felt over his body for a match and found a booklet in his pants pocket. The hissing sound went unnoticed as the guard ripped the match away from the rest and struck it against the back of the book to get a light. A surging flare erupted from the very air itself.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

_**A stove had been left** on. Gas had been running and freely mingling with air and nobody had known about it until it had been too late. The boom had come and then the crackle and then the pop. Inmates were supposed to be sleeping because the day had been chaotic earlier with the bomb threat that had happened in Emerald City. But it had not been a diversion or foreboding to what had happened at night. The silent whispering had said nothing, but had told of the destruction it was going to cause. No one had bothered to listen then and the silence had been buried in Oz---again. Connolly had gotten what he had wanted after all---and even he had not known that it was coming._

_Fire from a single match had ignited the air on fire and had caused an ear-splitting boom in the kitchen. The guard who struck the match had been among the very few casualties in the entire cellblock. Alarms had blared in the middle of the night and officers had been yelling on bullhorns for prisoners to get up because Em City had to be evacuated. The cellblock itself had been severely compromised and no one had been sure for how long the structure was going to remain intact. Ceiling tiles had already crumbled and walls had already been broken down because of the blast._

_All the prisoners of Em City had gathered outside in the courtyard of Oz in the early hours of the morning waiting for busses the transport them to nearby local facilities. It had been chilly and most inmates had been in nothing but their boxers or pajamas. All of them had known that the group was going to be split into five smaller groups, so everyone had stayed close to the people they had wanted to group with. Everything else had to be sorted out in the following days to come and while the prisoners had been at their respective facilities. It had been a rough transition for many, but one that had to be made as Oz was being rebuilt. Survival in any environment had always been key._

_It had been a long road. The way back had been crystal clear…_

 

 **It had been** several months in the making but the Unit B section of Oz was finally being flooded with prisoners. They entered through doors to their newly renovated space. After McManus’s welcome back pep talk in the newly designed cafeteria, the prisoners were escorted into the highly renovated Em City---back to home. The crowd was noisy as the gate pulled back and they entered their space to look around at the changes.

“It’s bigger,” someone said.

“But not necessarily better,” Arif commented.

“I like the new color,” another inmate blurted out.

“It’s the same color,” Ryan O’Reily said as he looked around the much larger Em City.

“I miss the old place,” Busmalis said.

“Don’t be daft,” Rebadow gently scolded his friend.

McManus and Murphy climbed up the steps to the new guard tower and he said, “All right. Officer Murphy will now give out your cell assignments.”

“I want a room with a view,” Poet said.

“And maid service,” Hill tried to be funny.

Murphy read out from a clipboard, “Number 96A214, Adams, Phillip. Cell number six.”

After all was said and done, the O’Reily brothers got a pod together. McManus may have had some kind of stupid grudge against him, but he was not foolish enough to separate them. O’Reily was the only one who could control his brother and McManus knew that. He told Cyril to start unpacking the new stuff their Aunt Brenda got for him and he started doing it. The pods were a bit bigger than the last set, but it was barely noticeable. There were definitely more pods to hold more people in Em City now, though.

Once Cyril had packed his things away, they walked outside and went to watch TV. He pretty much liked anything that was on but O’Reily’s mind was elsewhere. He was thinking of Connolly. How they never saw each other after the gas explosion---after S.O.R.T took him down for the dud bomb. He wondered what happened to him and if McManus knew anything. The unit manager was not going to give up information like that, though---and especially not to him. O’Reily looked over at Cyril and then behind him to Rebadow.

“Hey, Rebadow---” he started but was stopped.

“Off somewhere---and, you want me to watch Cyril? Em City may have changed but some things have not,” the old man said.

“So, you’ll do it?”

“Sure. Busmalis and I will take him to play cards when he gets tired of watching TV and Busmalis finishes packing his stuff in the pod.”

“Cyril, stay with Rebadow, okay? He’s going to look after you for a while,” the Irishman stood up and told his brother.

“Where are you going, Ryan?”

“Don’t worry about that. Be good.”

O’Reily walked away from the TVs and towards one of the newer guards to offer him a bribe. These new hacks were so easy to fool. The officer took his money and escorted him out of Em City and down a practically deserted hallway before turning around and leaving. O’Reily twisted and turned through more hallways until he came across the storage closet off Unit J he was sure no one used. He looked around before he easily slipped in and closed the door behind him. 

He had maybe an hour to be by himself and think. During the relocation, everything had been out of his control so he was unable to do anything but look after Cyril. However, the reason O’Reily came here---the reason he needed this time away for himself was not to hatch schemes or plant seeds of destruction. He needed to think about what was going on inside him. It was something he did not understand, and something that made him angry.

The Irishman looked around the average-sized room to see shelves lined with toilet paper and paper towels as well as a rolling bucket with a mop inside it in one of the corners. He took another one, flipped it upside down, and sat on it as both his hands rested in between his legs. O’Reily’s head was foggy and his emotions askew when he thought about leaning up against that wall outside Em City and fearing that his life was about to end. He had thought about Cyril. Gloria crossed his mind. But then, someone entered his mind he never thought would---and certainly not during what he had perceived to be the last moments of his life.

“Fuck!”

Him. He was the cause of all this uncertainty the Irishman now had within himself. It had started simple at first---he had just wanted to mess with Miguel Alvarez for some laughs on the side. It was some harmless fun at someone else’s expense. That changed when he realized he could secretly partner up with Alvarez to find out about El Norte’s schemes and dealings. But then, he had started writing to the loco Latino while he was in Solitary and then had started doing nice things for him without wanting anything in return. O’Reily had went out of his way to give him extra food when he could and even had stolen two lollipops from the secret stash to give to him.

He sat there and stared at the closed door in front of him as if he was expecting someone to come in and keep him company---or find him. His mind was a jumbled mess. He was confused as to why he had done all these things for Alvarez. And, the more he had went to pick up his trays, the more excited he had gotten to find out if he had written him something. O’Reily scratched a spot on the back of his hand until it became red and party inflamed. Something was going on inside him that he did not understand or knew what to do with.

The Irishman shook his head as if he was trying to clear the cobwebs out and reprimanded himself for being this weak and being caught up in such foolish thoughts. Oz was the same shithole as before---it just had a new face-lift. Nothing had changed and over the next few days, someone would kill someone---if it had not already happened. The secret partnership had been a serious offer he was willing to put on the table for Alvarez back then, but things had changed now. There was going to be no more writing, no more extra food, and no more fucking lollipops. Miguel Alvarez was just another inmate he had to keep an eye on.

 

 **Months had passed** since he had gotten a note to read or another blow pop on his tray of food. But, he knew what had gone down in the other cellblock---they all did. There had been a lot of time for Alvarez to think as he sat alone without anything to read or write. He did not have all the answers about what happened in Em City, but he knew the perfect person to ask about it. Just then, a hack came and opened both the door and gate to his cell. The Latino looked confused because there was no one else there.

The hack walked to the middle of the hallway and said, “Listen up. When I give the order, you are to walk from your cell and form a single line. Step out.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Penders asked.

“No talking,” the hack scolded.

The men stepped out into the hallway from their respective cells and formed a line. None of them knew what was going on, but it looked like they were heading out of Solitary. Alvarez kept quiet and was inside his mind thinking---thinking about O’Reily. He remembered the note the Irishman had slipped him that said he was about to do something bad so Alvarez had wondered if the destruction that had happened had been his fault. The bomb had been a dud, but the gas explosion could have been their backup plan. He had wondered that during all the time he spent in Solitary since the gas explosion.

Víbora always had three or four backup plans---that was how he worked. The hack told them to get moving and the line of inmates left Solitary, not knowing where they were going. Alvarez did not care, though---he was just happy to get out of that lonely and claustrophobic cell. The guard told a few of them to shut up on their way to the new cafeteria. They all looked around as they entered and saw Warden Glynn waiting for them.

“Holy shit!” Hoyt said of the cafeteria.

“New---and improved,” another inmate said.

“No talking!” the hack shouted.

Glynn looked over the group and said, “Okay. During the reconstruction, we found out that there are problems with the air ducts throughout the building. We need to clean out the ducts in Solitary and so, until that job is complete, I’m going to put you all back into Gen Pop.”

“Hey!” Hoyt laughed.

“No talking!” the stupid hack thought it was Alvarez who spoke and smacked him behind the head.

“I didn’t say shit,” Alvarez said.

“Now, this is a second chance for you slugs,” Glynn went on and said. “If you behave yourself over the next few days, you won’t have to return to Solitary. Understood? Don’t fuck this opportunity up.”

“What exactly is the problem with the air duct?” White asked in his irritating voice.

“That’s none of your concern, White,” Glynn answered back.

“What air duct? That’s the air we breathe, right? You talking about---” he rambled.

The hack hit him and said, “What part of ‘no talking’ don’t you understand?”

“Shit!” White pestered on. “Damn man, I got a constitutional right to breathe fresh air, man!”

“Oh yeah?”

“You know---I mean---fucking duct---”

“Breathe, brother---breathe,” the officer said.

Alvarez had his guard up because him getting out of Solitary could not have been this easy. The warden had some kind of plan cooking and he had to keep his eyes and ears truly open to find out what it was. They walked back to Solitary to gather their things before heading out to Em City. The Latino tried his best not to get excited but a spark was lit deep inside him and he knew he could not control it for long. He was out of Solitary and going to be among people.

The taunts and cursing came as they entered Em City and he ignored it all went to his pod to drop his stuff before he headed for the showers. Water crashed down his wet hair and slid off his naked flesh. He had to be cleansed of Solitary. It was a quick shower because he wanted to go to his pod and relax---and think about his next move. Alvarez turned the water off and grabbed the towel to dry himself off. He wrapped it around his waist and turned to leave when he saw a few Latinos enter the shower.

“Welcome home, Miguel. Been hoping and praying for this day. We got unsettled business, you and me,” Guerra said as he approached.

“Oh yeah?”

“You killed my boys---Carlo Ricardo and Jorge Vasquez. You got to pay.”

“Spit. Sweat. Blood,” Alvarez said as he played with his hands.

“What?”

“Bodily fluids---fluids the body produces. Piss and tears. Some voluntary---some not so voluntary. When I was in my cubbyhole, you know, I had a lot of time to think about my fluids. My juices, you know---my shit,” he said as he had a sinister look on his face.

“You’re fucking nuts, Alvarez,” Guerra told him.

“Yes, very. That’s right, it’s me---I’m fucking nuts. You say I got to pay. Fine. Put this on my tab, okay?” the loco Latino said as he lunged forward and punched Guerra in the jaw.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on here?” Murphy asked as he entered the showers with a few hacks.

“We’re taking showers,” Guerra calmly said.

“With your clothes on? Up against the wall. Come on, move it!”

“What---me too?” Alvarez asked.

Murphy reached down and pulled off Alvarez’s towel before he said, “Nah. I can see you’re clean.”

Alvarez reached back for his towel and readjusted it around his waist as he watched Guerra and the other two Latinos being patted down for anything. He looked outside through the glass windows and saw that Ryan O’Reily was looking at him from where he was sitting at a table in the quad. The expression on his face was unreadable. One officer uncovered a shank from one of the Latinos and Alvarez’s attention was forced back into the shower room.

“All right,” Murphy said. “Confine these two dinks to their cells. Put Guerra in the cage. Come on, move it. Got anything else to say, Alvarez?”

“Man is eighty percent water.”

Murphy gave him a sarcastic smile as he and the other officers cleared out the rest of the Latinos from the shower room. When Alvarez left and was walking back to his pod, he noticed that O’Reily had disappeared. His mind got working on possibilities and he knew he needed many answers from the devious Irishman. He was not going to play these games with anyone, anymore---not with him, or Guerra, or Morales. He went up to his pod to change.

In the afternoon, Alvarez was in the gym punching the boxing bag to let out his pent up frustrations. Sweat formed a light layer on his muscled arms---he was wearing one of his signature sleeveless t-shirts. He was never going to be a true member of El Norte and he did not want to try anymore. He had to concentrate on keeping himself alive and let these other fucks in here play their games. The Latino was sick of all the shit and was even sicker of Solitary. He was not going back there.

“Hey, Miguel,” Morales approached him after he entered the gym. “You are one lucky fuck.”

“Yeah. That’s me, you know---I’m Mr. Lucky.”

“You know, Guerra wants you dead,” the El Norte leader studied him. “But, I could yank him off your ass.”

“Oh yeah?” Alvarez said as he stopped hitting the floating bag and looked over at Morales. “If I do what, huh? If I kill somebody for you? Those days are gone, chica. Those days are long gone. See, I got no interest in sniffing the butthole.”

“You won’t survive solo. You ain’t got the balls.”

“Ain’t got what?”

“Balls---cajones---bendahos. That’s what I’m saying,” Morales was playing a tricky game but he needed to wrangle Alvarez under his control.

“Oh---bolitas. You see this?” Alvarez lined the scar of his face with his finger. “I did that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I cut my own face. You know what I’m saying? I shoved a shank in Rivera’s eyes. You know what I’m saying? I handle a knife better than a fucking surgeon. I got nothing to prove to you, brother. Nothing. Come on---get the fuck out of my face!” Alvarez said and pushed past him. “Hey, Giles---don’t think I’ve forgotten about you sticking me, right? Little fucking cocksucker. Yeah---yeah!”

Alvarez grabbed Giles and pushed him back against the metal fence to exact some kind of revenge on the man that had shanked him. Giles struggled for a bit before he swung his head forward and hit Alvarez’s own with a crunch. The Latino stumbled back and let him go as Giles punched him in the face. Hacks came running in to break up the scuffle and Alvarez was against the fence with his hands restrained behind his back and a slight headache. The hacks walked him over to McManus’s office and he just sat there as the man talked.

“This incident with Giles concerns me, Alvarez,” the unit manager was saying. “You want to stay out of Solitary---you’ve got to stay out of trouble.”

“You and me both know that I’m going back to Solitary no matter what I do. Glynn’s not going to let me run around free. And even if you did convince him to, I’m doomed, you know. I attract trouble like a fucking magnet,” the Latino said what he knew was the truth. “You know what quicksilver is?”

“Quicksilver?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. It’s like Mercury right---the stuff they make mirrors with?” McManus said.

“Mirrors---yeah. Reflections, right? It’s just this whole change in mood, you know what I’m saying? I mean, that’s just me, man. That’s me, McManus. You know, I’m just---I’m quicksilver, man. Whoosh---you know.”

He left the office with a warning and headed downstairs to the quad to take a seat at one of the corner tables by himself. It was true---he had no group to belong to and no one to watch out for him. Alvarez looked around the quad with nothing in particular to watch out for. His head was recovering from the head-butt from Giles and he rested both his hands on the table and remained there in silence. El Norte was not an option now and he saw for the first time in the gym earlier how weak Morales really was. The fuck had practically begged him to come back to the Latinos.

“Fuck that!” Alvarez said under his breath.

 

 **O’Reily buttoned up** the white shirt of his kitchen uniform to get ready for lunch. Cyril was already outside waiting for him. He had been surprised to see Miguel Alvarez yesterday---surprised that Latino was out of Solitary and that he had heard nothing about it from any of his sources. Everyone had to get back into the groove of their routine like it was before the explosion happened. Alvarez was by himself in his pod reading. They had not spoken to each other since he was back in Em City, but O’Reily knew he saw him looking at the scuffle that had happened in the shower room yesterday.

Prisoners swarmed into the new cafeteria and got in line for lunch. O’Reily took his usual spot in the serving line and started giving out food. He kept an eye on Cyril as he sat by himself and was eating and he also wondered if he would see Alvarez for lunch. The man had not been down for breakfast that morning and they had not run into each other since then. The Irishman remembered that hour in the cramped storage closet where he did nothing but think.

“You’re in a good mood today,” an inmate down the line said.

“Yeah, man. My wife’s coming to see me,” Arif said.

“All right. Is she bringing your children?”

“Nah. Sonsyrea and I need some time---just the two of us,” Arif said as they got closer to the Irishman and noticed him. “O’Reily. That man is an animal. He murdered Patrick Keenan with such brutality. Every time I see how I wonder how he lives with himself.”

“How you doing? Eat up, Arif. Move it. Hey,” O’Reily looked at his brother and then called out to Poet. “Take over here for a second, all right?”

“Where the fuck is you going, man?” Poet asked as he handed him the serving spoon.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” O’Reily said as he ran over to Cyril.

“O’Reily, relax,” Stanton said. “I haven’t seen your brother since he checked out of protective custody. We’re just catching up, man---come on.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

“But Ryan, I like Henry,” Cyril look at him and said.

“I told you this guy’s a scumbag.”

“It takes one to know one,” Stanton countered with.

“You on some kind of kamikaze mission there, Stanton, huh? If I see you talking to Cyril again, you’re going down in flames,” O’Reily warned.

“Later,” Stanton left after that.

“What’d you say to him?” he turned and asked Cyril.

“Nothing. Nothing! Jeez!”

“Hey, you mick fucks!” Pancamo yelled at them from inside the kitchen. “We’re working over here. You want to join us?”

He shot Cyril a look as they both got up and got back to work in the kitchen. Henry Stanton was becoming a problem---he could not be trusted. Cyril went back and started washing dishes and he replaced himself in the line and took the spoon back from Poet. O’Reily had to come up with a plan to make sure the man went down in flames. The wheels of his brain were already turning with the possibilities.

After lunch, he had walked Cyril back to Em City and put him to watch TV with Beecher before he went to the hacks for an ask. They were so easy to bribe and he was on his way out and to the infirmary to see Dr. Nathan. He had to spend more time with her---for himself more than anything. O’Reily entered and saw her finishing examining a patient.

“Uh-uh. Stay back,” she said when she noticed him.

“But I’ve got a pain.”

“Where?”

“In my heart,” O’Reily cupped both his hands and put them over his heart. “I’m heart sick because you keep ignoring me.”

“I’m busy, Ryan,” Dr. Nathan firmly told him.

“I just wanted to know, did the medical board---did they rule on your case? For malpractice?”

“Yes. They reprimanded me. They fined me, but I’m still a doctor,” she said.

“Well that’s---that’s great, right?” O’Reily said as the warden approached them both.

“Gloria. May I see you?” he requested.

“Sure.”

“Let’s walk.”

The warden glanced at him before they went out into the hall to talk. O’Reily remained where he was and wondered what that was about. He was glad that Gloria could still practice medicine though---that was something good. It had only been a quick couple of minutes before Dr. Nathan and Warden Glynn came back. He walked over to O’Reily.

“Officer---take him to the interview room,” Glynn looked at him and said.

“What---what for?”

He had not gotten any answers as an officer escorted him to the interview room, but he already knew what it was about---or who, rather. Keenan’s murder was becoming more of a thorn in his side that he had to make disappear forever. O’Reily was led to a seat where he waited for about ten minutes until Glynn opened the door and entered. The man had a look on his face that was unreadable.

“Come on, warden,” O’Reily said. “There’s got to be a rule about the number of times you can keep on asking me the same questions.”

“You think I’m screwing with your civil rights? You want to consult an attorney?” Glynn said with nothing in his voice.

“I don’t need an attorney because I didn’t kill Keenan. Look man, check the assignment records. I wasn’t near the gym all day.”

“My informant says different,” the warden said as he looked through the file on the table.

“Your informant’s a liar.”

“Why would he lie?”

“Look,” the Irishman said. “A lot of people got issues with me. A lot of people had issues with Keenan. That kid was a scrapper---he was in fights all the time. You go through the files; you’ll find a shitload of suspects.”

“I have. You’re still the nearest, and the dearest. Take him out,” the warden ordered.

O’Reily was escorted back to Em City but he did not go directly to his pod---he instead went to the surprisingly empty computer room and motioned for Meaney to follow him inside. They sat at the two computers furthest from the door as O’Reily began to weigh his options. A plan had already formed in his head when the warden was interrogating him.

“Glynn really wants to nail you for Keenan’s murder, huh?” Meaney quietly said.

“He’s got some witness, only I don’t know who. If I could only find out this fucker’s name, then I could persuade him to change his story. Or---”

“Kill him?”

“Yeah. Well, in any case, I need to confuse the situation.”

“Yeah. How?” the grunt asked.

“This clipping needs to find its way into Henry Stanton’s trunk,” O’Reily produced a newspaper clipping of Dr. Nathan. “Buried underneath his underwear.”

“Meanwhile, what are you going to be doing?”

“Encouraging an entirely different eyewitness to step forward.”

Most of these manipulations had become too easy for him to take any gratification from it. Meaney left to do what he was instructed to as O’Reily figured out the perfect candidate to step forward to give Glynn the good news. After the plan played out, the facts that surrounded Keenan’s death would be so murky that no one was going to figure anything out. The Irishman smiled and walked out of the computer room and saw Alvarez starting at him from across the quad. He was sitting at a table, alone.

Dinnertime was upon the cafeteria and the noise level was no higher than it usually was as inmates lined up to get food and socialize with each other. O’Reily was in charge of dessert because it was a piece of his plan. He looked out and patiently waited for his prey to walk unknowingly into his presence. He was a fucking venomous viper and damn proud of it---whatever he had to do to survive in Oz. Martin Montgomery walked over to him.

“Hey, Marty my boy, how about another piece of cake,” he said as he placed a second piece of cake on his tray.

“Sure. Thanks. O’Reily, right?” Montgomery asked.

“That’s right.”

“How come you’re offering me extra cake? I’ve been here almost three years; you never even farted in my direction.”

“Well, you’re right. We’re not friends. Everybody knows we’re not friends---which is why I can offer you an enticing money making opportunity,” the víbora laid his trap.

“Which is what?”

“I want you to go to the warden and tell him you saw Henry Stanton murder Patrick Keenan.”

“But, I didn’t,” Montgomery said as if it mattered.

“Marty, there’s a lot more cake where that came from.”

The venom was almost dripping from his teeth as he smiled. O’Reily knew he had the situation under control and that Keenan’s real murderer was going to go free. These inmates were easier than chess pieces to move and manipulate however he wished. _Chess piece._ He remembered when Alvarez had warned him about not treating him like a chess piece. O’Reily dismissed the thoughts as he continued cleaning up the kitchen to get back to Em City.

Lights out was in a few hours and both he and Cyril were relaxing in their pod, with the latter coloring. He waited for the grunt to return with information about the case. O’Reily played with Keenan’s shamrock in his hand while he waited. He also wanted to go and talk to Gloria before lights out to see what she had said to the warden earlier when he had interrupted them. The Irishman got a little anxious until he saw Meaney enter the pod.

“Ready for this? Glynn suspended the investigation into the murder of Patrick Keenan. Too many suspects, and not enough clues,” the grunt reported.

“Perfect.”

“Bet you could press it. Bet you could get Stanton convicted.”

“Don’t want to,” the Irishman said.

“Why?”

“Look. Henry Stanton gets the death penalty for Keenan’s murder. Gloria Nathan’s not going to let an innocent man die. She’s going to feel compelled to tell the truth. No, I win by keeping the ball in play---by keeping the facts murky,” O’Reily tried to explain to the inexperienced fool before he handed over the gold shamrock to him. “Have this placed in Marty Montgomery’s cell.”

“Montgomery?” Meaney asked. “Why?”

“Life insurance,” he said and Meaney left.

“Can I tell Henry our secret? That we fooled the warden?” Cyril smiled as he asked.

“No Cyril---for Christ’s sake, don’t say a fucking word to him!” O’Reily snapped and yelled at him.

“Stop yelling,” he was a little scared. “Why do you always yell---like Papa?”

“Fuck off!”

O’Reily stormed out of their pod and walked over to the quad to get away. Cyril was frustrating him and he needed some time away from him. He told Murphy he had a stomachache and the guard gave him permission to head over to the hospital ward. Most of the hallways were dead silent as it got darker outside---he noticed from the window he passed. He passed by the empty interview room and continued to walk past the storage room that was down the hallway. O’Reily was unaware when a frame jumped out from the door and clasped a hand over his mouth.

He struggled but the assailant was strong enough to drag him into the decent-sized room without anyone seeing anything. The door closed and shut them inside. The Irishman tried to yell and kick and struggle but it got him nowhere. A forearm grabbed and squeezed him hard around his waist---as if it was trying to break him. O’Reily felt his blood pumping and his adrenaline flowing as he did not know what was going on or what was going to happen to him. Then, he was slammed against the wall hard and felt a sharp blade pressed against his throat. A pair of scorching brown eyes was on his and the other arm still crushed his waist and kept him pinned to the cemented wall.

“You scream and I’ll kill you. You got that?” Miguel Alvarez said in a cool tone but his eyes were serious as he held his shank firmly in place against tender flesh.

“Let me go!” O’Reily angrily said back, but his voice remained in check.

“You sicced those guys on me---yesterday, in the showers?”

“What? You’re off your fucking meds, Alvarez. Let me go!”

“O’Reily, I could kill you right now and no one would know a fucking thing.”

“But you won’t,” the Irishman said in an almost confident way.

“You’re right. I’m going to get answers first, and then---then we’ll see how I feel,” Alvarez said as his piercing eyes took O’Reily’s in. “The only thing coming from your mouth better be the truth, víbora.”

“Fuck you! I ain’t saying shit until you let go of me.”

The loco Latino smiled that wicked smile of his before he completely backed off the other man with both his hands up and at chest level. He quickly looked around and rested the shank high on one of the shelves because he only wanted to talk. Alvarez only wanted to truth then he would be on his way. O’Reily stroked his neck and subconsciously rubbed his waist because it hurt. 

He never took his eyes off Alvarez for one second. This could go bad in a split second and he had no shank to protect himself. And, aside from that, he could not physically take the loco Latino because he was stronger than he was. O’Reily looked on as neither said anything and, in a bold move, Alvarez had actually turned his back to him and rubbed his fingers along his chin and jaw line as if he was thinking.

“I want the truth, O’Reily,” he did not bother to turn around as he said it. “I saw you looking at me. I know you were watching me yesterday during that shit with the other Latinos. You dealing with Morales?”

O’Reily desperately wanted to lie to fuck with his head but instead said, “No. I haven’t done business with El Norte in a while. Those fucks came at you on their own---or maybe on Morales’s orders. I’m not in that.”

“I don’t fucking get you,” Alvarez turned to face him and said. “You lie so fucking much. It’s hard to tell when you say the truth.”

“I do what I got to do to survive in this pit, all right? But that’s no lie.”

“What isn’t?”

“My noninvolvement with Morales,” he said. “I’m not doing anything with him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m not!”

Alvarez walked closer to him and O’Reily was forced with his back against the same wall as before. There was no force or shanks this time, though. Alvarez rested his palm against the wall when their bodies were close enough for him to do so. The Irishman did not object but was a little confused as to what was going on. Alvarez’s body was almost touching his---their faces were close together. And those eyes still had a streak of malevolence in them that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. O’Reily was anxious, but more so intrigued.

“I know what you were doing, from before this explosion shit. The conversation in my pod, and then, the passing notes.” the Latino’s smooth and sultry voice touched his eardrums. “I figured it out while I sat in my cell all day with nothing to do but think.”

“I---I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he said, and there were fucking goose bumps on his skin.

“I think you do,” Alvarez said and his face got even closer. “Remember when I told you I knew you wanted something from me?”

O’Reily looked at him and said, “What the fuck does that have to do with anything? And you’re too fucking close! Step back.”

“Partnership,” he ignored the demand and continued. “You wanted to make a deal with me.”

“Maybe. What if I did?”

“So, talk, víbora. I’m all ears.”

The Irishman was surprised that he had figured out so much of the fallen plan on his own. He always had some doubts about Alvarez, but the man in front of him was an enigma. He was dangerous and ruthless when he needed to be, but also understood the need for strategy and planning. It was an extremely dangerous combination that very few of the stupid fucks in here had. O’Reily was impressed and his curiosity kept growing where Miguel Alvarez was concerned. He wanted to know more and believed a secret partnership between them could be beneficial to both. It was weird because he usually only thought about partnerships that were beneficial only to himself.

“A secret partnership. You watch my back, I watch yours. What do you say?” he slid the offer on the table.

“That’s it?” Alvarez snickered. “That’s all you got? There has to be more. There’s always more with you.”

“You could give me inside info---on El Norte,” O’Reily made the mistake of saying too soon.

“There we go. You planning on taking down Morales, víbora?”

The name sent chills down his spine and he said, “No. Just to keep tabs on his movements---to play the game.”

“Then I will disappoint you. I’m not going back to El Norte,” he said.

“Why?” O’Reily said and it sounded more out of personal interest than of business.

“Got no interest in those cocksucking backstabbers. I’m going it alone from now on. It wasn’t any different even when I was a part of El Norte. I can’t deal with all the bullshit anymore.”

“What about my offer---to become partners?” the Irishman asked, and instantly knew he had made another mistake.

“I can’t offer you intel on Morales or El Norte. So, that deal’s off the table.”

“No, it’s not.”

Alvarez knew he could take care of himself inside these walls, but it was always good and many times necessary to have an ally when the shit hit the fan. He wanted to trust O’Reily, but past experiences had told him better. He remembered in Solitary how he had read O’Reily’s notes when he thought he was going crazy with loneliness. He had brought him blow pops and had wanted nothing in return. Some part of the Latino felt he could trust the man in front of him. He wanted so badly to trust him.

They had developed some kind of friendship in Oz, but each was wary of taking the next step because trust was a nonexistent thing to come by in this hellhole. Broken trust was too easily found among the many dead bodies that shuffled through the walls of the prison. It really was a life and death situation to trust people in here. Alvarez looked at him and wondered if he felt the same things---if he was confused by the same thoughts. His brain functioned on its own as one of his hands reached forward and gently brushed against O’Reily’s crotch.

“Hey! What the fuck are you doing?” he jumped and said, but his dick was tingling and growing with anticipation.

“Seeing if I can trust you,” Alvarez’s eyes met his as he grabbed and softly squeezed his package through his jeans. “Do you trust me?”

“Let go, motherfucker! I ain’t no fucking fag! Let go of me!” the Irishman was livid with himself when he realized he was getting hard with Alvarez’s touch.

“You’re growing in my hands. Your body says different from you.”

“Alvarez, let me the fuck go!”

“No. You want this. You would’ve moved away by now if you didn’t. I know you do.”

O’Reily stared at him and the realization hit him hard. He was right. Despite all his talking and demanding, his body had stayed in the exact same position it was in now so his words meant absolutely nothing. If anything, his hips had subconsciously moved forward into the warming touch. It had been so long since he had been touched this way. Howell had just wanted to get her rocks off and many times had left him to pleasure himself after she was finished. She was a selfish cunt that did not care about his needs. 

O’Reily never thought about or did anything like this with any of the inmates in Oz. He had known that Adebisi had always wanted a piece of him from their dealings together in the past. The Nigerian had a soft spot for him and O’Reily had used that to his advantage to get further into on the drug game. But he had never allowed anything to happen because he was no fag. His sexual desire of him had given O’Reily an in into Adebisi’s mind and he had been manipulating everyone and everything ever since. Adebisi had looked all he wanted but he had known better than to touch. Everyone in here had known better than to touch Ryan O’Reily that way.

But Miguel Alvarez was a different story and had a different set of circumstances to him. There was something between them---O’Reily denied it but he had spoken the man’s name when he had thought he had been in the last seconds of his life. They had been exchanging notes and he had given Alvarez extra food on a few occasions all while he had been in Solitary. And there were the blow pops. It was almost as if he wanted to make Alvarez feel a little more comfortable in Solitary because he knew how much he hated it---how much he hated being alone and confined to the small space. This felt so good---his hand felt so good. He closed his eyes and gave in to the type of pleasure that was supposed to be forbidden in Oz.

“Fuck!” he drummed out. “Uh---”

The Latino moved his lips closer to his ear and whispered, “Touch me, víbora.”

“What?” O’Reily’s eyes darted open and his heart skipped a beat.

“Touch me, like I’m touching you. You want to---just as much as I want you to.”

“Stop saying that shit! I’m no fucking fag!”

“Maybe not,” Alvarez looked at his eyes and smiled. “But there’s something between us. Touch me.”

He was so fucking smug with his smile and those eyes that could pierce holes through these prison walls if he wanted them to. O’Reily did not notice when the button of his jeans came undone but almost jumped out of his skin when he realized that Alvarez’s hand was inside his pants. Past his boxers and was rubbing his straining dick---skin against skin. The warm hand fondled his shaft and dug deeper down to caress his balls. O’Reily’s brain was gone from such simple touching. He hated himself for appearing so weak and desperate, but the sensations felt too good to deny his body of it.

“Touch me,” the Latino said again as that simmering voice of his got under O’Reily’s skin and too far inside his head.

“No,” was the short answer.

“Maybe next time then, Irish.”

“There isn’t going to be any next---uhh! Ohh!”

Alvarez used his free hand to tug O’Reily’s pants down enough for his dick to be free of its confines. It was hard and already leaking like a faucet. The warm hand traveled up and down the shaft in a slow motion and his thumb would sometimes graze against the sensitive head. O’Reily felt fireworks explode inside him when that happened and he shuddered at the amount of pleasure he was receiving. Alvarez was giving him a hand job and he was practically melting in the man’s hand from gratification. It really had been too long.

The loco Latino sped up his strokes and purposely went out of his way to brush against the head of O’Reily’s dick because he felt the reaction it got from the other man’s body. He was rock hard in his pants and needed release himself, but he was not going to ask again. All of this was still so new to him as well---new to the both of them. Alvarez stroked faster as he heard the silent grunts and moans O’Reily tried hard to stifle not to make known. The man was a handsome fucker---and he had a great piece of meat between his legs.

“Uh---fuck!” O’Reily was trying to keep himself from panting. “Keep going. Faster!”

His dick was pulsating in Alvarez’s hands so he was close. One of the Irishman’s arms rested on Alvarez’s shoulder while the other tried to grip the wall behind him---both were for support. He pumped him and felt when O’Reily started thrusting his hips forward into his hand. His grunts were more expressive and his body felt warm as he continued to extract basic human pleasure---something that everyone deserved to experience. It was what made them human after all. O’Reily bucked his hips as Alvarez instinctively tightened the grip around his dick to give him a more powerful orgasm.

The Latino squeezed his palm tightly around O’Reily’s hypersensitive rod and whispered what amounted to nothing inside his ear. Something in Spanish probably. The sultry voice did it---that sexy voice of his sent and lightning bolt straight down his spine and to his dick as he shot a powerful jolt of cum right there in the storage room. The pleasured Irishman felt his skin shake as he continued to shoot cum with the coaxing of Alvarez’s warm hand. He really needed the wall for support because he thought his knees were going to unlock at any moment. O’Reily’s breath was harsh and his mind confounded by all that had just happened. Alvarez finally let him go and walked away.

“Here,” he said when he came back with a brown paper towel on his extended hand.

“Thanks,” O’Reily grabbed it and began cleaning himself off.

“Partners, then,” Alvarez said and had turned his back to give the man some privacy.

“What?”

“You watch my back, I watch yours.”

“Listen, Alvarez,” he said as he tucked himself away and pulled up his pants to fasten them.

“I don’t know why that just happened,” the Latino said and he reached up high on the shelf to retrieve his shank.

O’Reily remained silent to process his thoughts, but then said, “We have to get back---lights out is soon.”

“I’ll go first,” Alvarez looked at him after he placed the shank in underneath his clothes. “Let’s try our best to avoid each other out there. I don’t want those fucks knowing anything about the partnership. Don’t say shit to anyone.”

“I’m not fucking stupid!”

“I know you’re not. Later then, víbora,” he said before he slipped out the door and disappeared.

“Fuck, loco,” the Irishman almost whispered.

O’Reily remained in the same spot and ran his fingers through his hair hard as he tried to figure out what the fuck just happened---what the fuck he had just gotten himself into with Alvarez. The bastard knew all the right moves---all the right things to say to get what he wanted. O’Reily found this problematic but strangely exhilarating at the same time. If Alvarez remained this fierce and cunning, they could pull all the strings of Oz without anyone ever knowing a thing. He opened the door and peeked outside before he rushed out and back to Em City.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **Miguel Alvarez sat by himself** in the cafeteria as he picked at the food on his lunch tray. His emotions were unstable and his body confused about what happened in that storage room a few days ago. The fork fingered the mashed potatoes as he kept his eyes down and thought about the partnership he was now in---but more about Ryan O’Reily. The man that many in Oz believed could not be trusted worth a damn. He thought about what he had gotten himself into.

Alvarez had his guard up always because he never liked snakes from the beginning and the viper he was playing with now had the longest fangs and the most poisonous venom of them all. This víbora’s desires drove him and that was dangerous. The Latino got up and dumped his practically uneaten tray into the trash. He walked across the cafeteria to leave. Ryan O’Reily watched him from the kitchen.

“Here comes the dead man,” Guerra said as he passed them by.

“Make your move, bro,” Alvarez slammed his hands on their table and smiled.

“Later. But I’m keeping my eye on you.”

“Truer words never been spoken, man.”

“The hell’s that mean?” Guerra stupidly asked.

“Being that you only got one good eye---droopy-eyed motherfucker!” the Latino laughed and walked away.

Guerra and a few other Latinos jumped up punched Alvarez in the back while the others surrounded him. The cafeteria erupted in applause and cheer as the hacks quickly assembled to break up the fight. Alvarez threw one punch at Guerra’s gut before they were all pulled apart. The guard pushed Alvarez out of the cafeteria and sent him on his way while the other officers told the other Latinos to sit back down and cool off. Alvarez had to come up with a plan to get them off his back.

O’Reily had watched the fight from the kitchen but did not do a thing because it would have been the wrong move if he had. Morales would have gotten suspicious if he had jumped in to help Alvarez and the Irishman wanted to remain on as good of terms with them as possible. He was no fool and if Alvarez went around picking fights, then he had to deal with the consequences on his own. The partnership had to remain secret.

The Latino was in the laundry room washing his clothes after he got back to Em City and his mind was deep in thought about Guerra. He had to figure a way to get Guerra away from him. Alvarez watched the dryer spin round and round and could not stop thinking about Ryan O’Reily in his hand---that night in the storage room where he brought the man so much pleasure from just a hand job. The door opened and Rebadow walked in with a handful of clothes.

“Fascinating,” the old man said. “You in the cafeteria.”

“What do you mean?”

“Throwing caution to the wind.”

“Think it’ll work?” Alvarez asked. “Will I survive?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you got to know. You’ve been in Oz like thirty-six years---been through the same shit that I been through, and more. And I know you know all the tricks.”

“No. No tricks,” Rebadow smiled and started the machine in front of him.

“Well then, what?”

“I’ve just been myself. Like I said, it’s fascinating, the differences in generations. You young people growing up with so much choice and possibility. On the one hand, that’s a marvelous thing---on the other, so many of you battle with who you are. For us, it was simpler---there was none of this ‘finding yourself’ jazz. You just concentrate on what you had to do. You were eighteen, nineteen years old, going off to war. So that’s who you were. That’s who we all were.”

“So you guys were heroes---that’s what you’re telling me? You guys are He-men?” Alvarez asked because he did not quite know what to make of the words.

“Lord, no. We were scared to death. But when the landing boats carried you to shore and the metal doors came down, you charged the beach---took the blow. That’s just how it was. It had to be done,” Rebadow said to him. “I’ve faced many hurdles and moments of great fear in my life---but, coming from an age when men took the blow, I’ve always felt comfortable in my own skin.”

“Good. Sounds good.”

Alvarez absorbed the old man’s words in his brain and really thought about them. All he said had made sense. He had to live his life his way---and not the way Morales or El Norte wanted him to live it. He retrieved his warm clothes from the dryer and started folding them as Rebadow left to get fabric softener. He had to take the hit. He did not have to be scared to stand up and take the hit. Alvarez returned his clean clothes to his pod and walked into the computer room where Guerra was.

“Woo---get it baby! Woo, hoochie momma---mmm,” Guerra said to himself as he was looking at porn on the internet.

“I want you to stab me,” Alvarez said with no emotion in his voice.

“What?”

“I want you to shank me. I won’t retaliate.”

“Man---are you going to let me kill you?” Guerra was not able to hide his excitement.

“Not kill---stab in the shoulder,” the Latino made it clear. “Proposition this---I give you a free shot at me, and, in return, I don’t die.”

“The fuck you talking about?”

“I’m willing to take the blow. Wouldn’t it be satisfying just to stick me?”

“Immensely fucking satisfying,” he said back.

“Okay. To make sure you hold up your part of the bargain, I want witnesses. I want a lot of them,” Alvarez planned his taking the blow carefully.

“I get this. You let me swipe at you and the hacks throw me in Solitary for the next ten years,” Guerra said.

“No. We’ll do it when the guards aren’t around,” he said. “You’ll control that. I just want the inmates so---so in case you do decide to kill me, one of the inmates go to Glynn, give you up. You end up on death row.”

“Deal.”

He left the computer room and went back to his pod to think about what he had just done. Guerra was not an honorable man and his life hung in the balance, but there was no backing out now. He had to remain tough and go through with it if there was ever a chance of getting Guerra off his back. Alvarez waited for rec time to get it over with. Nerves were building inside him, but he felt good about the move.

Alvarez was in the gym boxing the large bag with his bare fists when he saw Guerra and two other Latinos walking in and paying the guard to take a walk. The door closed behind them and all the inmates were left unsupervised. His nerves grew but he maintained himself as they walked over to him. For some reason, Alvarez wanted O’Reily there to see it.

“We ready?” the loco Latino asked when he stopped hitting the bag.

Guerra produced a shank and said, “Ready.”

“Yo!” Alvarez yelled out to get everyone’s attention. “Yo, man, look over here! Over here, guys---over here. Watch this! All right. Ready.”

Guerra had an ugly look on his face as he rushed forward and stuck the shank into the upper left part of Alvarez’s chest. The crowd went wild with excitement as he went down to the floor and held his bleeding wound. The pain was great, but he did not cry out or make a sound. Guerra looked down at him and smiled as he put the weapon away. The doors swung open and the hacks entered because of all the loud noises. They immediately calmed the crowd and assessed the situation.

A hack walked over to him and spoke into his radio, “This is fourteen---we got a twenty-nine in the gym! We got a twenty-nine in the gym---get down here! Repeat, I got a twenty-nine in the gym---hang on! This is fourteen.” 

Alvarez felt the warm searing pain in his chest as more of his blood leaked out onto the floor. The hacks were busy clearing out the rest of the inmates and he looked up to see the big smile on Guerra face. Another officer came and helped him up from the floor as they took him to the infirmary to get medical help. Alvarez wondered what O’Reily would have thought of this plan if he had told him about it. The plan had formed spur of the moment after he had spoken to Rebadow in the laundry room. He did not have time to get word to the Irishman. They took him off to the hospital ward.

 

 **Em City was** quiet as most of the inmates sat in the quad and played cards or watched TV or talked. Cyril was in the pod coloring as O’Reily sat at a table with Rebadow. Alvarez had been stabbed yesterday, he found out, but no one named any names. The Irishman was not stupid---the stabbing had El Norte’s fingerprints all over it, and especially Chico Guerra’s. He kept his suspicions to himself. He had to talk to Alvarez to see what he wanted to do about the problem.

“Yo, Busmalis,” O’Reily hollered when he saw the old man coming out of his pod. “Any word from your fiancé since she left you at the altar?”

“Yeah, sure. Like ‘Don’t try and track me down---I done skipped town’,” Poet joked.

“No. I watched the show yesterday---Norma’s still working on Miss Sally. Her name’s still in the credits,” Busmalis sadly said.

“Those are repeats. In fact, I read in the newspaper they may even cancel Miss Sally’s Schoolyard,” Poet continued with his deranged sense of humor.

“What?” Busmalis said.

“Jeez, you are a sad fuck. No wonder she ditched you.”

“What the hell do you know about it?” Rebadow questioned him.

“Know about what, motherfucker? What?” Poet said.

“Loss---being left. You have no idea, you stupid fool,” Rebadow said as he got up.

He and Busmalis walked away while the quad laughed at Poet for being the idiot he was. O’Reily watched but mostly remained out of it and to himself. The stabbing worried him more than it should have. Alvarez had to be fine---because he would have heard something by now if he were not. But, he wanted to see the Latino and knew that Murphy had enough of his visits to the infirmary for one lifetime. He had to bribe another hack.

O’Reily would also get to see Dr. Nathan so the infirmary was where he needed to be. A guard escorted him and they followed the same route he did only a few days ago. They passed the same storage room where Alvarez had snatched him inside and had held a blade to his throat---where Alvarez had jacked him off, as he wanted more and more. O’Reily shook his head and continued walking.

“Okay, all done. Wheel him into the ward,” Dr. Nathan said to a nurse as she finished with a patient.

“Dr. Nathan, we got a trauma to the head,” an officer said as he brought a prisoner in.

“What happened?”

“I was releasing this joker from the hole and he took a swing at me.”

“I ain’t no pussy!” Stanton said.

“Yeah, yeah. So I gave him one of these,” the officer wiggled his club.

“Take him for sutures,” she ordered. “Well, it doesn’t look too bad. You’ll need a couple of stitches. What’s your name?”

“Henry Stanton, and I don’t love you!” the framed man said.

“What?”

“Glynn sent me to the hole because he said I was obsessed with your tits, but I’m not! You got to tell the warden I’m an innocent man,” he got frantic.

“Okay---”

Stanton pushed the officer away and grabbed Dr. Nathan as he yelled, “You, fuck! You got to! You got to tell the warden I’m an innocent man!”

“Get off me!” she screamed as she tried to fight him off.

“Hey!” O’Reily yelled upon entering and punched Stanton in the face. “Bitch. You all right?”

“I was handling this, Ryan!”

“Well, it didn’t look like it.”

“Well, I---I don’t need you in my life!” Dr. Nathan yelled at him.

“Okay.”

“Just get the fuck away from me!”

“Okay!” O’Reily yelled back.

“Keep moving, O’Reily.”

“I need those sutures! Where the fuck are they? I need him prepped for surgery. Can you hold him please!” she was on edge.

The Irishman’s eyes found Alvarez’s for a brief second as he was being pushed out of the hospital ward. The trip had been a waste. Dr. Nathan was upset with him and he never even got a chance to ask Alvarez what happened between him and Guerra. He also wanted to know how long he was going to be in the ward for. O’Reily told the officer to take him to the cafeteria because lunch was soon. He wondered why Dr. Nathan was in such a bad mood.

Pancamo and the rest of the crew were already in the kitchen when he arrived so he got to work prepping the cart and putting out the trays of food. It was weird---somewhere inside his body tingled whenever he saw Alvarez. He hated it, but it would be a lie if he said that the pleasure the Latino had given him was not intense. It was one of the strongest orgasms in a long time---not since high school. And Alvarez had only jacked him off and he was so turned on. O’Reily was no fag. In the line, Morales was in front of him.

“Here you go, Enrique,” he said to the El Norte leader.

“Yo, Ryan. What do you say to some extra beets?” Montgomery said to him when Morales had passed.

“All of a sudden you got quite the appetite there, Marty.”

“Oh yeah. I never seem to get enough---which is why we got to talk.”

“About what?” O’Reily asked.

“My compensation for lying to Glynn.”

“Whoa---hey, shut the fuck up,” he said.

“That’s what I’m talking about. For me to keep my lips zipped, you got to come up with a lot more moolah,” Montgomery told him.

“Oh come on, Marty man, we had a deal, right?”

“Why are we negotiating?”

“All right---I’ll tell you what. What do you say we meet in the---library at four o’clock?”

“Bring your checkbook.”

O’Reily smiled but it dropped from his face as soon as the man was out of his sight. The little jackass was going to be a problem, but he had foreseen this when he had enlisted Montgomery’s services. He knew all the man’s moves before he even thought them up. Most of the prisoners were so thick or stupid that it was excessively easy to manipulate them. O’Reily smiled and continued serving the rest of the inmates their lunch.

They returned to Em City after lunch for little while before it was rec time. O’Reily was in his pod with Meaney while Cyril was outside watching TV with Beecher. Glynn was never going to trace anything back to him. That fucker Keenan got what he deserved for what he had done to Gloria Nathan. His true murderer had to go unpunished.

“I had Montgomery lie to the warden and say that Henry Stanton killed Patrick Keenan,” he said. “Now, Montgomery says if I don’t pay more, he’s going to rat me out.”

“If he does---Glynn will know for sure that you killed Keenan. He’ll fry your ass,” Meaney said the obvious.

“Which is why I’m not going to make my four o’clock appointment with Montgomery.”

“No?”

“No. I’ll have Stanton show instead,” O’Reily smiled.

He was in the gym lifting some free weights as Cyril boxed against the large bag. He found his mind wondering where exactly it was that Alvarez had been stabbed. The circumstances surrounding that situation were still unclear to him and none of his sources was saying anything about it. O’Reily knew one thing though---the attack was different from the other shankings that happened in Oz. It was something he would have to look into, but later.

“Yo, Stanton,” the Irishman said when he saw the man enter the gym.

‘’O’Reily---I ain’t bothering your brother or Nathan or nobody. So just leave me alone,” the pathetic fool said.

“Look, I know, man. You know, I think you and me---I think we just got off on the wrong foot, and I just want to let you know that I got no beef with you.”

“That’s good.”

“In fact, actually, you and me, we got something in common,” O’Reily smiled as his poisonous fangs came out. “We’re both suspects in the murder of Patrick Keenan.”

“I know.”

“You know, we both got eyewitnesses who say they saw us do the deed---and, I don’t know who’s accusing me but, as luck would have it, I found out who’s lying about you.”

Stanton stared and him and said, “Who?”

“Well, you know I’m hesitant to tell you for the fear that you’re going to do something crazy,” he said as the venom was practically dripping off his fangs.

“Motherfucker lies about me---that does make me crazy.”

“Well, see then? I’m not going to tell you, man.”

“Tell me goddamn it!” Stanton demanded.

“No, I don’t think I should,” O’Reily continued to play coy.

“Tell me! You tell me!”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m not going to fucking tell you,” he repeated again with a devious grin.

“Tell me!” Stanton yelled out.

“I’m not going to fucking tell you!” O’Reily raised his voice as well as if he was getting annoyed.

“Please, tell me.”

“Martin Montgomery,” he said easily.

“Martin Montgomery?” Stanton was furious. “I’m going to kill that fucking cunt!”

The venomous fangs had sunken into skin and had retracted as quickly as the poison spread through Stanton’s body. He just had to wait until another of his plans happened exactly as he had planned it to. The O’Reily brothers left the gym and headed back to Em City after he had told Stanton where Montgomery would be and at what time. It was all too easy. Once they got back, Cyril went to take a shower as O’Reily sat at a table and waited for the word.

He wanted to go to the infirmary to see Dr. Nathan---it was weird how she had yelled at him, but he decided to give her some time. It was frustrating but he had to back off for a moment. O’Reily also wanted to talk to Alvarez but they could not be seen in public like that. A hack walked over to him and told him to get moving. He was escorted out of Em City and to the interview room. It must have happened already.

“Stanton’s in Solitary. Montgomery’s at Benchley Memorial in critical condition,” Warden Glynn said and his eyes were intense. “People at the gym say they overheard you telling Stanton that Montgomery squealed on him.”

“Oh, no. Stanton asked me if---if I knew anything about it and I told him I just heard a rumor, that’s all,” O’Reily answered and was used to being grilled by the warden by now.

“We found this is Montgomery’s footlocker,” he produced the gold shamrock.

“What’s that?”

“Keenan’s shamrock.”

“Oh yeah, right,” O’Reily said as he looked at it. “I recognize that now. The fuck was Montgomery doing with it?”

“I was hoping maybe you could tell me,” Glynn’s eyes narrowed in on his.

“Uh, no. Jeez, warden, I don’t know.”

Glynn ordered the guard to take him back to Em City and he followed. It would have been better if Montgomery was killed, but the stabbing bought him more time and the ball was still in play. Cyril was watching TV when he sat beside him and watched it too. Alvarez was on his mind---again. He was starting to have his doubts about the partnership---it would have been better for them both if he joined El Norte again. Morales was getting more and more complacent in his role as leader---that was the best time to take him out.

The next morning, he sat with Cyril, Beecher, Busmalis, and Rebadow as they watched TV. Morales might have been plotting something, but Redding had been laying low for the past few days. The death of Hill’s mother in the bus crash devastated them both so the homeboys were widely scattered. O’Reily knew that Morales and Pancamo had the most power right now. He needed to strategize. A news anchor broke into programming.

“Suzanne Fitzgerald, the sixties radical who turned herself into federal authorities after thirty-two years on the run, was released today from the Parker Correctional facilities for women,” he said.

“No fucking way!” O’Reily smiled and laughed.

“The governor’s decision, while widely expected, remains controversial,” the anchor went on to say.

“Yes! Come on, Cyril.”

He had told Cyril about Suzanne Fitzgerald being his real mother but never bothered to bring up that they were half-brothers. Cyril had never asked because he either never fully connected the dots or he felt the same way O’Reily did---they were brothers no matter what. In the pod, Cyril picked up a paper rose he had made a few weeks back when O’Reily had told him about Fitzgerald.

A hack had told him that he remembered seeing Fitzgerald in the building earlier and said she was heading to the cafeteria. O’Reily was going to bribe the same guard to take them there but Sister Pete had used her influence to get them to the cafeteria so they could spend some time together. He got there and Fitzgerald had her back to them as she was checking out the stage and the piano.

“Psst---” he walked up to the stage and called out.

“Ryan!” she turned around and got down.

“Hey, hug me,” O’Reily said as they did. “Christ, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“Oh no, baby,” Fitzgerald softly touched his face and said after they broke apart. “You’re stuck with me.”

“I know he’s not your son, and he’s only my half-brother but, um, I kind of want you to meet Cyril.”

“I’d love to,” she smiled.

“Yeah? Okay. Cyril---Cyril,” O’Reily called and his brother came over to them.

“Hello,” Cyril said in his childlike way.

“Hello.”

“I made this for you,” he said as he produced the paper rose and handed it to her.

“Oh, thank you. It’s so sweet,” Fitzgerald said as she pretended to smell the paper flower. “It’s beautiful. Can I give you a hug and kiss?”

“Sure.”

“Okay,” she said and approached him and gave him a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek before cupping his face and smiling. “So, are you two going to be my first pupils?”

“Uh, jeez, you know mom, I can’t sing,” O’Reily scratched his head and said.

“Me neither.”

“You can’t? Oh---guess you take after your father. That man had the voice of a warthog,” Fitzgerald said and they all laughed.

“She’s funny, right?” O’Reily said to his younger brother.

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she said and smiled at Cyril. “Will you have some of your friends sign up?”

“Our friends?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course,” Ryan O’Reily promised.

The guard called to them and Fitzgerald gave them both a hug before they had to go. He promised he would be back soon though and they left. They returned to Em City and he told Cyril to go inside the pod while he took care of some business. He found Busmalis coming out of the laundry room and pushed him against the wall to force him to sign up for singing lessons.

“All right, all right! I’ll do it,” the old man said but was not frightened. “In fact, I’ve been told I have a pretty good voice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. In high school, I had the lead in ‘The Pirates of Penzance’. I am the very model of a modern major General,” Busmalis said proudly.

“As far as my mother’s concerned, you never sang a note---you got it?”

“Okay---not a problem.”

“Okay,” O’Reily said and backed off.

“Hey, O’Reily,” Jaz Hoyt called out from close by. “Your mom is looking fine. Does she fuck younger guys?”

The Irishman dashed forward and punched the tattooed biker with a built up rage inside him. No one was going to talk about his mother that way. Hoyt came back for the retaliation but the hacks intervened and dragged them apart. O’Reily’s blood was boiling and his anger was swelling inside him.

“What the fuck did you say?” he yelled as he struggled to break free of the hacks.

“Come on!” Hoyt provoked.

“Fuck you! Come on, man!”

Murphy came down and took O’Reily out of Em City to cool off. He knew this was going to be a problem. He had fucked with so many people in this shithole that using his own mother to hurt him was a thought he could not bear to think about. He had to get her out of Oz. O’Reily told Murphy to take him to the cafeteria because he had to be in the kitchen in a few minutes to start preparing lunch anyway. The officer agreed and walked him over.

“Slowly---slowly, roll up,” he heard his mother’s voice when he entered. “Right. Slowly, slowly, slowly. Wait---wait, Matt. Get your---okay relax your jaw. Relax your shoulders.”

“We got to talk,” O’Reily walked over and stopped in front of the stage.

“I’m in the middle of a class.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Busmalis said. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Well, I’ll see you Thursday?”

The Irishman shot him and look and he said, “Um---definitely.”

“Okay,” she smiled and waved him off.

“Come here, come here, come here,” he guided her to the side.

“What?”

“I want you to quit.”

“Quit?”

“Yeah, look---”

“On my first day?” Fitzgerald questioned her son.

“Look---I’ve ticked off a lot of the assholes in this place, okay? And I don’t want to put you in any jeopardy,” O’Reily said in all seriousness.

“Jeopardy?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a CO standing nearby.”

“Yeah---well, trust me, the hacks aren’t that reliable,” he said honestly because almost all of them could be bribed to look the other way.

“I’m not worried.”

“Yeah, but I am.”

His mother smiled and kissed his cheek, “Well, that’s sweet.”

“Look---I’m not being sweet, okay? Christ, you could get hurt,” he said as he tried to get her to understand his fear for her.

“Ryan---I’m a big girl and I’ve made my choice. Look, this is where I’m needed---this is where I belong,” Fitzgerald said. “Nothing you say is going to make me change my mind.”

“Hey, O’Reily,” Pancamo yelled at him as inmates entered the kitchen. “You working today?”

“Go,” she said.

“What the fuck, man?” Poet said.

“Move you fucking ass, O’Reily.” Pancamo warned him.

“We working alone, now?” Poet threw his voice in.

Fitzgerald cupped her son’s face for some sort of reassurance before he left to go to work in the kitchen. O’Reily was more than worried, but his mother was not taking it seriously. He had to keep eyes on her too but it was going to be next to impossible. He put those thoughts away for later and concentrated on his work. Pancamo was already breathing down his neck and that was the last thing he needed now.

He had remained mostly in his mind for the rest of the afternoon and until it was time to get dinner prepared. He was walking a bit behind Pancamo and the rest of the wops and noticed that Peter Schibetta was walking among them. The once leader of the Italian gang was now the laughing stock of Oz. He had fallen so far so fast. There was no redemption for him inside these walls. O’Reily almost felt pity for him.

“It’s all different, huh?” Schibetta said when he walked inside the new cafeteria.

“Yeah. The gas explosion pretty much obliterated the place,” O’Reily said.

“Good,” he replied in a low voice.

It had to be hard coming back to the place for the first time since it had happened---since Adebisi had raped him in the kitchen a few years back. O’Reily watched him a while as he examined the place. He had lost all his power since then and, mostly, people had either laughed at him or felt pity for him. That was one thing the Irishman never understood or never would. How two men could be together like that and it be natural. He never understood how a man could willingly let another man fuck him. It was the ultimate sign of masculine weakness in his eyes.

Schibetta’s rape had not been willing, but rather forceful. But, either way, he lost all his power and respect in Oz and no one considered him a threat anymore. He was as low down on the scale as Busmalis or any of the Muslims. Said was a different story, though. The leader of the Muslims had embraced his inner demons since he killed Adebisi and was willing to fight if necessary. The Said of a few years ago had never resorted to any type of violence. O’Reily stacked trays and got large spoons out as he thought about how Schibetta was practically less than a man now---a broken man.

“Ay, O’Reily,” Pancamo called to him.

“What?”

“You’re on delivery duty tonight. Grab the clipboard and start loading the cart.”

It gave him a chance to see Dr. Nathan in the medical ward---she had to have cooled down and been calm by now. He had avoided her for a few days like she had asked. And, Alvarez was still in there recovering from Guerra’s stab wound. O’Reily would not have time to talk to them both and he really wanted to see Gloria so he decided t do that. The Latino would be out of the hospital and they could make a time to talk without anyone knowing.

He loaded up the trays and got ready to leave. The clipboard showed that there were many patients in the hospital ward so he could only deliver to there tonight. Pancamo got someone else to cover the rest of the cellblock. O’Reily took one tray out and opened it before he slipped another piece of fried chicken on it and covered it back. He grabbed the clipboard and headed out of the cafeteria towards his destination.

The infirmary was silent when he walked in. The only noise was coming from the cart and trays rattling against each other as he pushed it forward. O’Reily and saw one nurse busy with paperwork on her desk and there was no guard present---which he found completely odd. There was also no sign of Dr. Nathan---or Alvarez for that matter. He walked around to each bed and delivered the trays until Alvarez’s was the only one left. One of the private rooms had the door open and lights on so he stuck his head inside.

“There you are, Alvarez,” O’Reily said as he entered with the tray in his hands.

“That’s me, víbora,” he smiled at the company. “Brought me dinner, huh? What did I do to deserve this?”

“Shut up! Here,” he rested the tray down on the side table and rolled it over to the bed and tucked it above Alvarez’s lap. “How you doing?”

“Can you talk?”

“There’s no guard outside. Strange---I know,” O’Reily informed him. “Why are you in a room? Did he stick you that hard?”

The Latino laughed and said, “Nah. When I came in, all the beds outside were full, so Dr. Nathan put me in here.”

“Where---where is Gloria, by the way?”

“Went home already---said she was feeling dizzy or something,” Alvarez said as he lifted the cover off his tray and smiled a little. “Two pieces of chicken, huh? What---you trying to get me fat or something?”

“Shut up and be grateful,” O’Reily scolded, but it was harmless. “Tell me what happened.”

“Grab a chair.”

O’Reily knew there was more work to be done in the kitchen but he ignored it and got a chair to sit next to the bed. He thought it best to wait there until everyone finished eating and take the trays back one time rather making another trip. If Pancamo was upset, he could go fuck himself. The loser got off too much on running the kitchen. Alvarez started to eat the mashed potatoes as he watched him. O’Reily wondered when, or even if, they were ever going to talk about what really happened in the storage room that night. Now was not the time or place for that, though.

“I am grateful, Irish,” Alvarez said after he swallowed a mouthful of food. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Tell me about Guerra. I’m sure we’re alone for right now,” O’Reily looked back at the door and said. “Everyone’s staying quiet about the shit, so I know something’s going on.”

“Sent up a red flag, did it? I wanted Guerra to shank me. I set it up with him before he did it.”

“What? What the fuck, Alvarez?” he was more upset than he should have been. “Are you fucking going crazy again?”

“Relax,” the Latino laughed a little. “Relax. I took the hit. I took the hit---thinking it would end the bad blood we got going between us.”

“You are fucking losing your mind! Guerra hates you. He could’ve killed you. He wants to kill you---and you go offer yourself up like that?”

“Maybe---but I’m not going to continue walking on eggshells around him, or El Norte. I told him to stab me in the shoulder so the slate would be wiped clean---so we would have nothing to do with each other,” Alvarez tried to explain his thinking on the situation.

“What if he had killed you?”

“There were witnesses there---the whole gym, as a matter of fact,” he said. “If he had, someone would’ve gone to Glynn, and he’d be on death row.”

O’Reily said after an awkward moment of silence, “Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve figured something else out.”

“I had to do this for me, O’Reily. I’m sick of the shit between me and them---sick of always having to watch my back from my own fucking people,” he said before he ate some more.

“I thought that’s why we formed the partnership---you watch my back, I watch yours. You don’t trust me.”

The last words should have never escaped his lips because it made it seem as if he needed Alvarez in some way. But, there had to be a better solution to dealing with Chico Guerra than him getting shanked. He was determined to stand on his own two feet and not abuse the partnership and O’Reily liked that---he respected that. But, they should have talked first before anything---to at least give O’Reily the chance to tell him what a bad idea it was and try to talk him out of it.

“You think I call you víbora because you look like a damn viper?” the Latino stuck his fork into the second piece of fried chicken. “I’m cautious when I’m dealing with you. I want you to bite others but I know there’ll always be that chance where you turn around and bite me---and I fucking hate snakes!”

“So, you think I can’t be trusted?” O’Reily said and he was getting far more upset than he was supposed to. “Well, you know what, fuck you, Alvarez---and fuck this partnership!”

“Wait,” he said as the Irishman got up to leave. “I still want to be partners. You’re delusional if you think, after one meeting, we were automatically going to trust each other. You know there’s no such thing as trust in Oz.”

“Why bother with the partnership, then?”

“I want to trust you---and, I want you to trust me.” Alvarez said when their eyes met. “But we have to work on it. You’re the damn king of mind-fucking in this hellhole. I’d be stupid---and probably fucking dead by now if I went all in with you.”

“So, what are you saying?” O’Reily questioned.

“We can’t give each other our trust---we got to earn it. I want to earn your trust, O’Reily. I want you to earn mine. Think about it.”

O’Reily just looked at him and said nothing as he watched him finish eating. He had already spent too much time in here but he was lost in his thoughts and emotions. What Alvarez said was true and it made a lot of sense. He would be a fucking idiot if he showed all his cards to Alvarez right off the bat, too. There really was no trust in Oz and everyone knew that. And, O’Reily had made a career in his prison life of lying and manipulating to get what he wanted. Sometimes, he was unsure if he could even tell the truth anymore.

“Yeah---I hear you,” O’Reily said.

“I’ll tell you something,” he said lowly. “I want this partnership to work because I need someone at my back. I don’t have any allies since I’m not going back to El Norte.”

“Those fucks were never your allies.”

“So---you couldn’t be much worse then, right?” Alvarez smiled.

“I don’t know. The viper’s bite is venomous---pretty strong stuff actually,” the Irishman said as he tried to boost himself up.

“I’ll have to take my chances. I know the real extent of power and influence you have in here, Irish. I could not wake up tomorrow because of this conversation.”

“But you won’t,” he said. “I got to get back. When are you getting out?” 

“Tomorrow, I think.”

“We have to meet to talk strategy,” O’Reily’s brain went to work again.

“Drop me word and I’ll be there,” the Latino said as the food tray was taken from him. “No cherry pop?”

“Not this time, loco.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **Dr. Nathan was taking off** the bandage that protected the scar to check the sutures. She pressed gently into the healing gash and Alvarez winced at the slight pain. It was still tender but healing rapidly and he was happy because he wanted to leave the hospital ward already. She cleaned the outside wound to prevent infection and went to get his release paperwork when Warden Glynn walked into the infirmary and over to him.

“So, Alvarez, who’s responsible?” he asked.

“I wish I knew.”

“You didn’t see who stabbed you?”

“No,” the Latino lied to honor his part of the arrangement with Guerra. “Everything happened so fast, you know.”

“Then I guess my investigation is over,” the warden passively said.

“And that’s really breaking you up ain’t it?”

“Man---now, I’m no doctor, but I’ve seen a lot of stab wounds in my time,” he said as he looked at the wound. “If that knife had gone in another quarter of an inch to the left, we wouldn’t be having a conversation.”

“Quarter of an inch?” Alvarez questioned mainly to himself. “No shit.”

“No shit. Guess you got lucky, huh?”

“You going to put me back to Solitary?”

“No, no, no,” Glynn said. “I mean, there’s no one I’d rather see rot in Solitary than you---but, I figure I’ll send you back to Em City. Maybe next time, you’re not so lucky.”

The warden gave him a hard look and walked away as a nurse came over and brought his clothes for him to change. If what Glynn said was true, Guerra tried to kill him. They had an agreement and the stupid fuck tried to take him out. Alvarez was upset---but he was still alive so the agreement technically had not been broken. The Latino slipped on his pair of pants and carefully covered his upper body with a shirt.

It was the usual hounding when he returned to Em City and a part of him thought he was going to see Ryan O'Reily there, but it was almost lunchtime so he was at work. Alvarez went to his pod to get situated and he knew El Norte’s eyes were on him from the moment he had come back. Morales, Guerra, and a couple of random members were sitting at a table in the quad and talking. He left the pod and went to them.

“We got to talk,” Alvarez said.

“Oh---you want me to shank you again? Okay,” Guerra said with a smug smile.

“Can I sit down?” he mainly addressed Morales this time.

“Blow me,” one of the random Latino gang members said.

“Get up,” Morales kicked the seat and he did. “Have a seat.”

“So?” Guerra said.

“You tried to kill me,” Alvarez said and knew he was right.

“No I didn’t. You alive, ain’t you? That was our deal.”

“You were supposed to stab me in the shoulder, man. Blade went in a quarter of an inch from my heart,” he said of Glynn’s suspicions.

“Must have fucking moved, choca. What can I say?” Guerra remained smug and arrogant.

“You ain’t got to say nothing. I just want you to know that I know the truth, man. I’m going to honor our agreement. I didn’t die---I ain’t going to retaliate,” Alvarez stuck to his word.

“Backing off---a wise move, Miguel,” Morales spoke directly to him. “Listen to me carefully. I’m never going to welcome you back to El Norte. But, what I will do, is guarantee that we’ll leave you be.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Guerra said.

“All scores are settled,” Morales said to the both of them.

“Excuse me,” Alvarez said.

He pushed out the chair and walked away from them. Morales gave him a lot to think about. He had never been able to trust El Norte or any of their leaders, so it was dangerous to start now. For the most part, Morales was able to keep his lapdog Guerra under control, but Alvarez would never put anything past either of them. He just had to keep his eyes open and his ears listening.

The buzzer sounded for lunch and Alvarez knew he would be seeing O’Reily on the serving line---it was no place to talk, though. He had to be a loner inside these walls and, realistically, the partnership with the Irishman had a very good chance of falling apart. Alvarez had prepared for that scenario already but, for now, he was going to play everything by ear and see if O’Reily wanted to prove himself---and how he was going to prove himself to the other man.

Alvarez stood in line and remained quiet as everyone around him was talking or laughing or plotting. Some of the dumb fucks actually did it out in the open and that was why their plans mostly never got anywhere. Oz was a place where privacy was not an option, but private conversations were the only ones worth having. He saw O’Reily at the end of the line giving another inmate a hard time and had to smile a little. A Latino walked up behind him in the line.

“I want you to shank me,” Velez spoke to him. “I don’t know how you came up with the idea but it fucking rocks, and I see what it’s done for you. And mostly, I see how Morales is---him talking to you before like he’s taking the high road, being powerful and generous. But, behind his eyes, he’s running scared. I want to follow you.”

“You want to follow me?” Alvarez asked the young kid.

“Join your gang. You’re the next wave, and I want to be your lieutenant. Shank me.”

“I ain’t going to shank you, man. I understand, you know, you think you got to prove yourself and shit, right?”

“Yes,” Velez said.

“I’m going to have you do something else for me.”

“Anything.”

“Kill Guerra.”

He left Velez with the request and went on to grab a tray to get lunch. O’Reily’s eyes passed over him when their paths crossed to get food and he gave him the smallest piece of cake on the entire tray. Alvarez frowned but kept walking to a practically deserted table to sit by himself and eat. The pact with Guerra only said that he himself was not going to retaliate---someone else acting on his behalf was something completely different.

The loco Latino stuck his fork into the small piece of cake and took the bite. A small flap of white paper made itself known and he noticed it right away. It was no coincidence. He brushed the rest of the cake aside and retrieved the note from its hidden place. O’Reily surely knew the proper way of passing messages in prison. Alvarez was sure that no one had been any wiser to what had just happened between them. He unfolded the note close to his lap and under the table to keep it hidden.

**Storage closet on the way down to Solitary. One hour.**

Alvarez was going to have a bribe a hack in order to get away like that. He was going to be signed in as being in the gym but was not going to be there. It was doable and he tucked the note away to continue to eat. No more eye contact was going to be made here---especially when he knew that kid Velez was most likely watching him. It could have been a trap, but Alvarez was testing the waters and waiting to see when it would turn red from blood.

The hack took the bribe and the Latino signed himself as going to the gym. He was left unescorted to walk to the gym but took a detour---the scenic route in Oz was always nice. His eyes danced everywhere to make sure no one saw or was following him as he made his way further from the gym and closer to Solitary. Alvarez never thought that he would willingly walk this path. The door was locked, as to be expected, so he pulled out a thin blade and picked it.

A paralyzing fear gripped his insides when he closed the door behind him and felt like he was being boxed in alive. His extreme claustrophobia entered his mind and he wanted to leave, but that was not an option. Alvarez felt his heart rate elevate a little and he sat with his back to the wall across from the door and waited. His head hung low and his eyes were closed as he tried to think of wide-open spaces. _Fuck!_ His skin felt on edge as he waited and waited to get out of the box. A shake of the doorknob touched his eardrums.

“Hey,” O’Reily said lowly as he entered the small room and locked the door behind him. “I got held back. Alvarez---what’s wrong?”

“Nothing---nothing,” was the mumbled answer.

“Shit!” he walked over and knelt down in front of the other man. “I know it’s a small room, loco, but it was the best I could do. This is the best spot for privacy right now.”

“I’m feeling boxed in, man---trapped!”

“Relax---just relax,” O’Reily said as he touched Alvarez’s shoulder. “It’ll be a quick meet.”

“No. I’ll be good. I just need a minute to process it,” he said and looked up.

“Okay.”

“Just talk to me---distract me,” Alvarez said. “You gave me the smallest piece of cake today.”

“Yeah,” O’Reily laughed and sat on the floor. “I had to slip the note in at one of the corners. Schibetta looks at everything I do since Pancamo ended up in the hospital ward. Still probably thinks I had something to do with his dear old dad’s death.”

“Did you?”

He remained silent for a moment, but then replied, “Yeah. Adebisi and I fed him ground up glass over a couple weeks.”

“And he bled out from the inside,” the Latino remembered the old man’s death. “I remember.”

The Irishman did not know why he had just admitted to Nino Schibetta’s murder, but it was a dangerous position to be in. Maybe admitting the murder was a small step in trying to get Alvarez’s trust. He slowly seemed to be getting comfortable with being in the small room though because his body did not look to be as on edge as it was when O’Reily had first walked in.

“How’s the wound?” he asked.

“Healing up. You know a shank can’t keep me down, víbora,” the Latino said as he unconsciously touched his chest through his shirt. “And, I might get a hit in after all.”

“I thought you weren’t going to hit back.”

“Who said I was the one doing the hitting?”

“You’re crazy, Alvarez,” O’Reily said but looked on. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“That’s why you call me loco, papa.”

He smiled and told O’Reily about Velez and the conversation they had while waiting in the cafeteria line. The boy wanted to prove himself badly---and also wanted Alvarez to form another Latino group. He was uneasy and not really interested in the idea, but O’Reily seemed to have different ideas than his own. All of a sudden, he did not want to talk about business anymore. His brain was full of too many thoughts and felt like it was in overdrive.

“Another Latino gang could be the right move for you,” the Irishman said with enthusiasm. “This kid Velez seems to idolize you.”

“I’m no fucking rock star,” he laughed.

“No, but you already influenced him---without even trying to. Let him kill Guerra and then you can start your own gang.” 

“I don’t want to start a gang, Irish. I don’t want no fucking gang.”

“Why not? This could be something great for you---for the partnership,” O’Reily said with some excitement.

“I don’t want power. Not that type of power, anyway,” Alvarez said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Men with power like that become targets in Oz. Look at Nino Schibetta, and Hernandez---Adebisi. I’m not fucking walking around this place with a bulls-eye painted on my back. I have enough trouble staying alive as it is now.”

“So---you don’t want any kind of power?” he asked in confusion.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I want power---but I don’t want anyone in here knowing that I have it. I want to keep under the radar as much as possible---while still getting done what has to get done. Like you.”

“That a compliment, loco?”

“Take it how you want. That’s why I think this partnership could work. I know you don’t want that kind of power, víbora,” Alvarez said as if he was so sure of himself.

“Yeah? How do you know that?”

“Because---you would’ve had it by now if you really wanted it. We may have different methods, O’Reily, but we fucking think the same.”

Again, the Latino was making a lot of sense in what he was saying. O’Reily knew it was only a matter of time before the likes of Pancamo, Morales, and Redding were taken out because of the way those stupid fucks flaunted their power. Neither of them wanted that kind of power because it made them that much easier to be killed. Alvarez was right---he did fly under the radar and had never bothered to do it any other way. They did think the same, and O’Reily was starting to feel a little anxious. Emotions were surfacing that were never supposed to be there in the first place.

“You’re uncomfortable,” Alvarez noticed him and said. 

“No I’m not!” he snapped. “I’m just thinking.”

“O’Reily---come on. Let’s talk about it.”

“It was just a onetime thing. That’s it!” O’Reily was uncomfortable just at the thought of it.

“Yeah---I’ve been confused about it myself. Something just took over.”

“Are you a fag, Alvarez?”

“No.”

“Me either,” O’Reily said as if he had to reassure himself. “So let’s move on and forget about it.”

“No,” the Latino said as he got up to his knees and crawled over to the other man.

“What---what are you doing?” he asked as Alvarez’s knees were on the ground and on either side of his legs.

“I don’t want to forget about it, víbora.”

Alvarez looked at him the whole time he was moving in for a kiss. Their lips touched for a microsecond before he pulled back and went in again for another one. The second kiss lasted longer and O’Reily was not moving away---maybe his body was too paralyzed with fear to move. Or maybe a part of him wanted it too. It was a confusing time for both men but the kiss felt so good. Alvarez felt alive for the first time since being confined in this hellhole. He gravitated towards those startlingly soft lips---towards another human’s touch.

“Stop,” O’Reily whispered out and it went almost unheard. “Stop it, Alvarez!”

He moved back and the Latino looked at him, “Oh, hey---did I move too fast?”

“I---I don’t want to do this.”

“Your body tells me different, Irish. Your body always tells me different,” Alvarez said as he sat on the floor with his hands on his knees. “Something’s there---between us. I didn’t want to think about it either. But, when I was in Solitary, that was all I could do---think. I know I like being around you. I don’t know if that makes me a fag or a pussy or stupid or whatever else. I want to work to get your trust. This isn’t some game.”

“I didn’t say it was a game,” O’Reily whispered again as his body tried to process the words.

“But---you’re scared.”

“I’m not fucking scared of anything!” he snapped.

“Okay---okay. I know you feel something for me, Ryan.”

The Irishman looked up at the sound of his name and replied, “No. I---don’t know.”

“I know. You go around telling everyone you’re not a fag. ”

“I haven’t done shit with any of the fucks in here!”

“Me either,” Alvarez said back. “Never even thought about it once. But, something happened in Solitary. I can’t explain it. I looked forward to your notes. I wanted to read them. I wanted to be partners with you because I know how much power you really have in here. You’re not like those dumbfucks Morales or Pancamo.”

“We can be partners. You’re smarter and more dangerous than most of the bastards in here, Alvarez. That’s why I knew we could be great partners. It’s just---just this. It’s not right, man,” O’Reily said. “I’m no fag.”

“Fuck what other people say. They won’t know anything, anyway,” Alvarez seriously said to him.

“It’s not about what they think. It’s---about what I think.”

O’Reily was feeling open and raw. If this conversation had came up months ago, punches would have been thrown and a fight broken out. He was no fucking fag---and he had tried hard to deny that there was something else going on between them. His mind and body felt like two separate entities since even before Alvarez got out of Solitary. His mind had reprimanded him whenever his feelings showed, but his body always gravitated towards the Latino’s touch. It was a fucking mess and he hated feeling this way.

“I used to be like that---always thinking about everything,” Alvarez said and smiled a little. “But, when I got out of Solitary, I stopped thinking about shit so much and just went with life.”

“I can’t do that,” O’Reily said and got up. “I’m a thinker---a fucking manipulator. I think about every single thing before I say or do it.”

The Latino got up too, went over to him, and said, “I want to be your partner, Ryan. And, I want to get to know you. I want you to trust me.”

“This is fucking crazy, Miguel!”

“First name, huh? That’s progress,” he said and laughed.

“Shut up, loco!”

“So, were back to that, víbora? I can deal.”

The Irishman remained quiet and the room got awkward for him. Alvarez seemed to be on the same boat as him---felt the same things he knew he shouldn’t. It was so far out of O’Reily’s comfort zone but something kept nudging him forward. Alvarez’s lips had ignited something in him but he was scared. He was no fucking fag but he liked the kiss. He wanted it again. O’Reily decided he would try the Latino’s advice and let life lead him---at least for a little while, anyway. Maybe his emotions were going to sort themselves out eventually.

 

 **Ryan O’Reily woke** up the next morning with a knot in his stomach and mind heavy with thoughts. Yesterday, a man had kissed him. Yesterday, another man had kissed him and he had not been repulsed by it as he thought he would be. His mind was telling him no, but his body was just drawn to Miguel Alvarez like two magnets. It was strange. He woke Cyril up and brushed his teeth to get ready to go to the kitchen. Alvarez’s lips were so warm and supple when they were on his.

They also had an interaction session with Sister Pete and Kenmin later in the afternoon. It had been upon Sister Pete’s insistence and Cyril had wanted to do it so he had agreed. The inmates went off to breakfast and Alvarez was walking a few people behind him. It felt good---to have him that close. O’Reily had already started telling him things that he never had told anyone else before---even his own brother. And, he knew Alvarez listened to every word he said and did not judge or condemn him for those words.

The loco Latino was in his cell reading a book as O’Reily looked at him from time to time from down by the TV area of the quad. They were just quick looks so that no one was able to read them. But, he saw Guerra looking at his former friend hard as he sat at a table with Morales. The lapdog was seriously becoming a pain in everyone’s ass. He turned back to face the TV and put his headphones back on.

“Next up is Whitney Allen, star of _Miss Sally’s Schoolyard_ , to tell us about next week’s Mighty Ball drawing. Whitney---” the newscaster said into his ear.

“Hi, Warren. How are you?” the bouncy TV personality addressed.

“Very well, thank you. Thanks for dropping by.”

“Who are all these numbnuts who play the lottery?” O’Reily asked.

“I play the lottery,” Busmalis answered.

“Me too,” Beecher said.

“Like I said---numbnuts,” the Irishman laughed. “Out of fifty-one numbers, you got to pick the right number not once, but six times in a row.”

“I say it’s possible to win,” Busmalis said.

“Jesus Christ, Busmalis. You have a better chance of getting struck by lightning,” O’Reily said to the old man.

Busmalis thought about it for a second and replied, “Approximately one thousand people a year win a million dollars or more in North American lotteries. In contrast, less than a hundred people a year get hit by lightning.”

“So don’t forget to play---because the winner just might be you,” Whitney Allen said.

He watched as Busmalis and Rebadow disappeared to their pod after the drawing. His eyes quickly cut over to Alvarez once again. The lottery was a long shot, and, even if someone in here won it, they wouldn’t be able to spend it anyway. O’Reily had to laugh at the pathetic idea as he watched Guerra talking to Morales. He wondered when that kid Alvarez had told him about was going to make his move against the lapdog.

“O’Reily,” Officer Murphy approached him. “Time for you and your brother’s appointment with the Sister.”

“Yeah. Come on, Cyril. Let’s go.”

Kenmin’s eyes were on them as they entered and O’Reily wanted to punch him---or have Cyril put him into a permanent coma this time. The fucker could not be trusted. Sister Peter began the session by having them sit across from one another with the coffee table separating them. Cyril looked sad as Sister Peter Marie talked to him and Kenmin did not take his eyes off O’Reily. He was up to something. These sessions never worked---Beecher and Schillinger were proof of that.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he heard Cyril say.

“Why did you hit Kenmin, Cyril?” Sister Pete said in her usual calm voice.

“He was punching Ryan.”

“Why were you punching Ryan?” she directed her question to Kenmin.

“I had been in the cage all day,” he started to say with an expressionless face. “I was feeling feisty. I decided to show off. It was stupid.”

“Yeah,” O’Reily interrupted.

“Ryan,” Sister Peter Marie scolded him.

“What? His bullshit almost got Cyril transferred to the fucking insane asylum.”

She said, “The rules are no interrupting and no swearing.”

“I take full blame for everything that’s happened to me---which is why I want to make peace,” Kenmin stood up and extended his hand to Cyril.

“Uh---uh---uh,” the Irishman put his arm in front of his brother to stop him from moving forward. “Sit the fuck down.”

“No,” Cyril said, as he remained standing. “I want to make peace, too.”

“Go ahead,” Sister Pete said to him.

O’Reily watched in disgust as his brother shook hands with Kenmin. He knew Sister Peter Marie was giving him a look but he didn’t care. The fucker was faking and up to something. This show meant nothing to him. He had to watch him again---or have him taken out. Sister Pete showed him out first and, when the way was clear, she sent the two of them back to Em City. O’Reily instead told the hack that it was their time for singing lessons so they headed to the cafeteria.

Suzanne Fitzgerald hugged them both when they hopped up on the stage to spend time with her. O’Reily still felt uncomfortable with her being there, but his mother had made up her mind and he had to respect it. She played to piano and taught Cyril the proper way of doing scales. O’Reily physically had to stop himself from laughing because of how awful his little brother sounded.

“Okay,’ she said.

“Stop laughing, Ryan,” Cyril pouted.

“Ryan, behave,” his mother gently scolded.

“I know. Okay---okay, I’m sorry,” he said. “But Cyril’s singing really sucks.”

“Now, I’ve told you that this program is not about becoming Pavarotti,” Fitzgerald told them. “It’s about learning how to express your feelings through the music, and you did very good, Cyril.”

“It’s more like Pavarotten,” O’Reily laughed.

“All right, you try,” she challenged him.

“Uh-uh, no---no. The deal was I sign up for this class to spend more time with you. That’s it. I’m not singing.”

“So, this session is over,” his mother said. “Next Friday, Ryan---I want to hear you sing.”

“Okay, mom. You know what, I’ll do you one better.”

“Suzanne,” Brass called out. “You next two students are here.”

“Whoa---whoa---whoa, what’s this?” the Irishman jumped off the stage when he saw who it was.

“I heard your mother was teaching, so I decided to give it a whirl. Jia Kenmin,” he first said to O’Reily and then to Fitzgerald.

“Suzanne Fitzgerald.”

“Li Chen,” Chen introduced himself.

“Welcome, both of you,” Fitzgerald said to them.

“Let’s go, O’Reily,” the officer yelled at them.

“Yeah, yeah. In a second, Brass.”

“Now, fuckwad!” he demanded.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he said to Kenmin’s face before they walked away.

“Bye guys,” he waved at them.

O’Reily paced inside their pod, thinking about a way to get rid of the two of them. He was sure now more than ever that they were planning something. He was on edge and worried about his mother’s safety. Brass was fucking useless now since his tendon had been slashed. He wanted to go back to the cafeteria but even Murphy was not going to allow that. Anger was building inside him.

“What’s the matter, Ryan?” Cyril asked him.

“I got a bad feeling, man.”

“About what?”

“About that piss stain Jia Kenmin,” O’Reily said as he looked out to the quad. “I know he’s perpetrating. I know he’s plotting something against us. I think he might want to hurt my mom.”

“I like her.”

“Yeah, well, she likes you too, Cyril,” he looked back at his brother and said.

“You want to trade?”

“Trade? Trade what?”

“I’ll give you my most prized possession if you give me her,” Cyril said in his childlike way.

“We don’t have to trade, Cyril. We can share her---you know that.”

“Really?” his eyes lit up and O’Reily smiled at his innocence.

“Yeah. Hey---don’t I share everything with you?” the Irishman said and noticed Kenmin passing by his pod. “Hey, Jia.”

“Your mother’s a wonderful person,” he said and smiled.

“Yeah. Well, let’s make sure she stays that way.”

“Meaning what?”

“You fuck with her one time, you go back into a coma---this time, it’s permanent,” O’Reily harshly warned.

“Look, you have nothing to fear from me,” Kenmin said. “But Li Chen---he’s a different matter. He’s one sick fuck.”

Kenmin walked away with the words and left him to think. He wanted to punch the motherfucker until he stopped breathing. O’Reily walked back into the pod and saw Cyril coloring. He decided to calm himself down so his brother would not ask any more questions. He hopped up to his bed and looked up at the ceiling of the pod. If something had happened to his mother, he would have heard about it by now. She was safe---but for how long, he did not know.

Later in the day, the group was meeting and he went to get his mind off Kenmin. He sat next to Sister Pete and Guerra was sitting across from him. He looked at the fool and resisted the urge to laugh in his face. He was not sure if the kid Velez had it in him to kill, but Guerra was a marked man anyway. He listened as Sister Pete started the meeting. O’Reily remained his stoic when his mind ran on Alvarez.

“I got a postcard from my honey---she’s in Maui,” Guerra told the group.

“Oh yeah. Maui---man Maui’s awesome. You know, you can actually climb down into a volcano there. And the women, they got great---great---” O’Reily was saying but saw Sister Pete smiling at him. “They got great inner beauty.”

“You been to Maui?” Guerra asked.

“No,” he replied. “I just read it in National Pornographic. You know, lots of color photos and shit.”

“Does it bother you that your girlfriend is in Hawaii, Chico?” Sister Peter Marie asked.

“No. I know that Consuela still loves me, and I want her to be having a good time and all, but the postcard--- it really ripped my heart out, you know. Places I’ll never see.”

“There are worse things than your woman going on vacation,” Hill said.

“Yeah---like what?” Guerra said.

“She could leave you. She could send you a letter one day and say, you know, the time has come for her to move on with her life,” Hill told him. “I’m saying, I thought the worst thing that could happen to me was losing my legs---losing my freedom. But, Annabella, that’s like losing my manhood---another big chunk of who I am.”

 

 **It was quiet** down the hallway to Unit J as Alvarez walked it to get to where he needed to be. Since Yood was the only one left there now, and was a relatively harmless inmate, it was a safe place for them to have their meetings for the time being. The storage room was bigger than the last few they had met up in and Alvarez’s insides breathed some relief. The Latino looked around as he closed the door behind him and when he saw who he was looking for, he locked it. O’Reily came out from behind a few shelves and looked at him.

“About time, loco,” he said. “I got a bigger place.”

“I see that,” Alvarez said as he moved forward. “What’s up?”

“Fucking Kenmin, man. I hate that goddamn cocksucker!”

“What’s going on with him? Do we need to handle it?”

O’Reily looked away and said, “I think he’s out to get my mom---to get back at me.”

“Shit.”

“I know he’s plotting something.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Alvarez seriously said. “We’ll play it cool for now but I’ll watch him.”

“And the other one, too---Chen.”

“Yeah, okay. Don’t worry about those bastards, víbora. We’ll take them out before they have a chance to reach your ma.”

O’Reily sat down against the wall and tried to think hard about what Kenmin and Chen were planning. He had been on edge ever since he found out that they had signed up for singing lesions with his mother. Alvarez came and sat down beside him but said nothing. He knew those two Asians were playing a dangerous game if O’Reily was this upset and worried. The Latino thought about it first before he did it He placed his hand slightly above the other man’s knee.

“Hey,” he said in that sultry voice of his. “Don’t worry about your mom. She’ll be fine.”

“Those bastards hurt her and they’re dead.”

“No doubt about that,” Alvarez said as he took his hand back.

O’Reily noticed it and said, “Alvarez---I’m not sure I can do this. It---it just doesn’t feel right.”

“I know. My body gets---different around you. Like it stops listening to my brain and does whatever it wants.”

“That shit happens to me, too.”

“Ryan---I like that feeling. I’m always on edge because I’m always watching my back or fighting to stay alive. I need a break from all that sometimes,” he said and they looked at each other. “I don’t want to stop.”

“But---”

Alvarez moved closer to him and kissed his lips. He kissed with such pent up passion because he yearned for touch. He yearned for one good feeling among all the horrible ones he was forced to relive every day in Oz. His tongue brushed against O’Reily’s lips and begged for entrance into his mouth. Alvarez was not sure about this either but he was letting his body guide him now. They could figure out what everything meant later. He had not kissed someone in so long---or, had someone kiss him back.

The Irishman parted his lips and his tongue came out in full force to wrestle with the other one it met. It was a battle of pleasure. Alvarez knew how to kiss---as if he was doing it with every fiber of his body. It must have been a Latin thing---a passionate Latin thing. O’Reily rested his head against the hard wall and allowed his mouth to be taken because Alvarez’s zeal was overpowering. He was as fierce in his emotions as he was dangerous here in Oz.

Excitement shocked Ryan O’Reily down to his very core. Shannon had never kissed him like that. The only kiss that had come close had been with a Puerto Rican girl he had cheated on her with a few months into their young marriage. The kisses were amazing and the sex was awesome, but they had never seen each other again. But Alvarez was different because his kiss was on a whole other level. His lips knew exactly what to do and his tongue knew exactly where to go to solicit a small groan from O’Reily. It was as if he poured his soul into the act.

“Dammit!” O’Reily said when their lips separated. “Fuck!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Christ, Alvarez---where’d you learn to kiss like that? The breath’s like fucking sucked out of my body.”

Alvarez smiled at the compliment and said, “It’s in the blood, víbora.”

“Uh-huh---I bet.”

“What---you Irish have green in your veins, don’t you? Well, we Latins have lava in ours.”

“I’m fucking hard as a rock,” he was slightly embarrassed to say because he had gotten so from only kissing.

“Lie down, and take your shirt off. I---I want to try something.”

“What?” Ryan O’Reily was shocked and his mood turned severe as his heart instantly jumped into his throat. “Nothing comes anywhere near my ass---or it won’t be attached to your body anymore.”

The Latino laughed at his wrongfully drawn conclusion and replied, “You don’t see me bent over right now---all ready and willing to give it up either, do you? Relax, would you?”

“What do you want to do?”

“Something that’ll feel really good---for the both of us. Take off your shirt, papa.”

O’Reily gave him a nervous look but his hands fumbled with his shirt as he pulled it up and over his head. The floor was ice cold against his bare back as he laid there and wondered what was going to happen. If Alvarez was going to try to fuck him, there were going to be major problems. He was no fucking fag! He needed release badly though, so he went along with life for this moment.

He looked over to see that Alvarez had taken off his shirt too and was unbuckling his pants. His skin was so smooth and velvety and his stomach so toned. O’Reily was getting more turned on by him---he was fucking getting turned on by the half-naked man in front of him. Alvarez crawled on top of him and connected their lips together in another one of those kisses. Tongues lapped and played with one another to create some kind of friction.

“I’m going to unbuckle your pants, okay?” the Latino asked for permission when their lips were only slightly apart.

“Okay,” came the response. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see. I promise you’ll like it.”

He felt a hand over his crotch and fingers tugging at the button of his jeans when his lips were assaulted with another kiss. Alvarez quickly distracted his mind as he unzipped his pants and pulled everything down to about his knees. O’Reily was not lying---he was hard and already leaking precum. The sensual kissing continued as hands roamed all over one another’s bodies. Alvarez unzipped his pants and pulled them down too. It was all part of his plan.

An instant pleasure swept through the Irishman’s body when he felt his dick being touched by Alvarez’s dick. It was a shock and a slight shudder that left his body begging for more. Their lips crushed together as the Latino grinded their hips together---making their dicks rub against one another and against their bodies. It was already becoming sticky because they were both leaking but neither cared. The pleasure was far too real and something that should have never been experienced inside the walls of Oz.

Thrusts were made to match one another and silent groans filled the storage room. His hands roamed down Alvarez’s muscular back and even gripped his butt. Every part of his skin was smooth but strong. The Latino moaned inside his mouth as their dicks played like two swords fighting against each other. His butt flexed with every thrust he made and he loved O’Reily’s fingertips on his back and shoulders. He craved touch the most.

Now there was real friction and heat generated between their bodies and O’Reily grabbed their dicks together and began to jack them off. His mouth was still occupied with another pair of velvety lips. He rubbed and jacked their dicks as best he could---Alvarez was bigger and slightly thicker than he was. He was so horny and wanted release so badly. O’Reily kissed back hard and felt sparks as their bodies heated up. A layer of sweat covered his skin and he knew the same was the case for Alvarez too.

“Uhh---ohh, yeah!” Alvarez said in his mouth. “Jack us. I’m close, víbora. Keep going.”

“Me too,” he whispered out. “Fuck! Kiss me.”

Alvarez sunk his head back down and pushed their lips together as he felt himself building up inside. The hypersensitivity of his dick coupled with chafing against O’Reily’s dick and his hand jacking them off together was bliss. Their bodies felt like they were moving as one---feeling all the same things. Tongues and teeth scraped against flesh and O’Reily grunted loudly as he body convulsed and came with an urgent intensity. Alvarez warned him not to stop stroking them together as the friction between them was falling apart.

It was only a moment later before the Latino came and a swirl of English and Spanish words escaped his lips as he fell down on top of O’Reily’s body---his head right on top on the other man’s heart. Breaths were shallow and both their stomachs were sticky with small puddles of cum. O’Reily’s hands fell to his side and he looked up at the ceiling and tried to stop his head from spinning. This time had been so much better than the first time when Alvarez had jacked him off. His insides were haywire and a tangled mess.

“We got to go,” the Irishman cleared his throat and said as his body jerked up into Alvarez’s. “Come on---don’t want anyone finding us like this.”

“Let’s clean up then,” Alvarez looked up and into those green eyes that reminded him of sour apple blow pops.

When O’Reily looked away, he knew he was uncomfortable again. It must have been hard for him---it was hard for the both of them. Alvarez got up and rested on his knees as he reached for paper towels from a nearby shelf to clean themselves off with. They both did so in silence. They pulled up their pants and put their shirts back on when they were sufficiently clean. The paper towels went in the trash and Alvarez rubbed his face as he quickly worked to build back up his walls. O’Reily was inside his mind busily stacking back the bricks of his defense before they had to go.

“I’ll go first,” Alvarez announced when he felt he was ready to go back to Oz. “I’ll watch those chinks.”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.”

“Come on what?” O’Reily looked at him with confusion.

“Kiss me.”

“No. Just go, loco---before we get caught.”

“One more second won’t hurt. Come on,” Alvarez said matter-of-factly.

The Latino was extremely persuasive when he wanted to be. O’Reily walked over to him and gave him a quick kiss but their bodies were pulled together and it became a sultrier one. Alvarez smiled and dodged out of the storage room after their lips had parted to leave him alone. O’Reily rubbed his lips and cursed under his breath as he waited for his turn to leave. Alvarez’s kisses were some of the best he had ever known, and it was ironic that they had come from another man. The Irishman put that last cinderblock of his defense up before he snuck away from the storage room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **Some semblance of guilt had** seeped into Miguel Alvarez as he paced in his pod, thinking. Velez had failed in his mission of taking out Guerra and it had cost him his life. The young kid had been so eager to prove himself and now, he was dead. Alvarez regretted asking him to do such a thing and, in hindsight, realized that Velez had a very slim chance of killing Guerra. The loco Latino had been no better than Morales---or Hernandez before him. The kid was dead because of him. Regardless if Guerra killed him or not, Alvarez still had Velez’s blood on his hands.

He told a hack that he wanted to see Father Mukada and they went there. He really wanted to see O’Reily, but it was not a good time for their meeting. Alvarez had been looking at Kenmin and Chen---the chinks were definitely plotting something. He was not able to get words of a solid plan yet, but someone knew something---and it was only a matter of time before they talked. The priest’s door was open and he was smoking a cigarette when they entered.

“Hey, Father,” Alvarez said. “I need to make a confession.”

“Saturday---three o’clock,” Father Mukada said.

“I need to make one now.”

“Close the door, officer,” he instructed the guard and then looked at Alvarez when they were in privacy. “What’s up?”

The Latino sat on one of the chairs and started talking, “You know, ever since I’ve been let out of Solitary, I’ve been going right and left, you know? Up and down---just trying to prove to everyone that I’m no pussy.”

“I know what you mean. I should have died in that bus crash. And now, the Reverend Cloutier has disappeared---which I think is supposed to mean something, but I can’t figure out what that something is.”

“So what do you do?” he asked.

“Pray.”

“Yeah, well, you know---toss in a couple extra for me.”

“I always do, Miguel,” the priest said with a smile.

“Yeah, well, I need just a little bit more than my usual amount. Someone died---because of me,” Alvarez somberly replied and felt the guilt tighten in his chest as if he was being closed inside a small box.

“Jaime Velez?”

“Yeah. This kid was innocent, you know?”

“You and I have had a long and battered relationship---but I continue to believe that you have a good soul, and that you’ll find a way to right whatever wrong you committed,” Father Mukada said to him.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you really are a pussy.”

Alvarez returned to his pod to try to come up with a way to ease his conscience of Velez’s death. Father Mukada was right---and after all that had transpired between them, the priest still believed his soul was good. He needed an opportunity to do good in Oz but there was rarely anything like that here. It was a cesspool of blood and violence and nothing was going to change that. He was summoned out of his pod by a hack because McManus had an announcement to make.

They were careful not to let their eyes settle for too long or be too close to each other. Out here, they were nothing more than inmates and observably had no business with one another. O’Reily and his brother were together listening to McManus talk about the opportunity to train a Seeing Eye dog for the visually impaired. Alvarez immediately remembered Eugene Rivera---the hack he had blinded to prove himself to El Cid. This was a rare opportunity to make something right and he had to seize it.

“If you’re interested, let me know. But remember, this isn’t a few weeks of playing fetch,” McManus addressed Em City. “You’ve got to be strongly motivated to participate. Now, the woman running the program will interview each potential candidate, review your files, and make her final decision. That’s all.”

“Shit, man---I don’t want no dogs in here, man,” Poet said. “You know, where I grew up, man, there was this rot pitbull mix---mean motherfucker. I’m sure he had some Schillinger in him---fucking took a chunk out of my leg.”

“Something tells me you deserved to get bit,” Redding said.

“Yo---maybe a dog will take my mind off my problems. I’m signing up,” Hill said and he rolled away.

“You know what---I think I’m going to apply,” Alvarez said.

O’Reily shot him a quick look and said, “I bet these mutts are drug sniffers.”

“Undercover dogs?” Penders said.

“Hey, you never know, man,” the Irishman replied.

“Fuck it! You know what, I’m in, man,” Alvarez said and left to see McManus.

“Me too,” Penders said and followed.

“Ryan?” Cyril said.

“Yo.”

“Can we get a doggie?”

“Not a chance,” O’Reily told him.

Alvarez waited outside the interview room for his turn to try to do something good for a change. This was exactly what Father Mukada was talking about and he had to do it. He had put so much bad shit into the world that it was about time he put something good out there. There was a good feeling inside him---he could do this. Hill rolled out and Alvarez walked in and immediately started petting the golden dog that was inside. She was beautiful.

“Come on in and sit down,” Alicia Hinden, the director of the program, said.

“Hey, girl. Yeah---yeah,” he continued to play with the dog. “What’d you do to get in here with us bastards, huh?”

“Uh, Miguel, I’ve looked over your file and I’ve got to be honest with you---you’re not really suited for this program.”

“Why is that?” he stopped playing with the dog and asked.

“You’ve got quite a history of violence,” she said.

“You read in there about the CO I blinded? Eugene Rivera?”

“Yeah---that kind of jumped out at me.”

“Well, that’s why you got to let me do this. It’s what I owe. Just a good thing to even out all the bad, you know what I’m saying?” Alvarez looked at her and said as the dog continued to play with him. “Check this out---she already picked me. Yeah---yeah. Good girl.”

His words were sincere and she had believed him because he was accepted into the program. A hack walked him, along with Penders and Hill, to the cafeteria where Hinden was waiting to assign them each their dog. This was his opportunity to try to right a wrong that he did in the past. Alvarez was not going to mess this up because an opportunity like this might never present itself again in Oz. They entered the cafeteria, where three dogs were waiting.

“Oh, that’s my bitch right there,” Penders said as he walked over to the dog.

“Step back a second, Penders,” Hinden told him. “You don’t get your bitch just yet. This isn’t the city pound so I’ll be assigning you your dog---which is how you’ll refer to them.”

“You’re the bitch,” Alvarez said to Penders and laughed.

“First, let me run down what we’re going to accomplish here,” she continued. “The goal is to teach them, and you, basic obedience.”

“So, what---we step out of line and you hit us on the nose with a rolled up newspaper?” Penders laughed.

“If I have to,” Hinden was serious and went on. “Now, you’ll teach the dogs to come, sit, stay---the basics. But, more importantly, you’ll show them love and trust. For these dogs to be useful to the visually impaired, they have to be comfortable not just with their owners, but with all people. And, if we don’t accomplish that then all you’ve raised is a pet just like any other schmo. Yes?”

“These dogs---they stay with us?” Hill asked.

“Yes, in your pods.”

The Latino thought about it and said, “How do we keep them safe from the other prisoners?”

“Like I said---love and trust,” Hinden said.

“Shit. Now that’s like conjugals and cigarettes.”

“Meaning?”

“Those are two things that don’t exist in Oz,” Alvarez told her.

Hinden finished up her introduction and assigned the dogs to their trainers. Alvarez got Julie---the dog that had picked him from the interview. She was soft and warm and he felt inside that he was doing the right thing. It was something he had to do for Rivera and for Velez---and for himself. The session finished up and the three of them walked back to Em City with their dogs. Alvarez wanted to do a good job so he listened to everything Hinden had to say. This was going to be a part of his redemption. The buzzer sounded and the gates opened before them.

“Check it out---the boys brought their dates' home,” O’Reily glanced at Alvarez but said to everyone.

“So, has your little mongrel learned about pain yet?” Guerra said to him.

“You better stay the fuck away from her,” he warned.

“Oh---you afraid I’m going to hurt your little poochie woochie?”

“No---I’m afraid she might hurt you, bro,” Alvarez laughed and walked away towards his pod. “Come on, girl. Come on---get inside. This is daddy’s home. Yeah---come over here.”

He sat on the bunk, ushered the dog over to him, and began playing with her. This training was something serious and he was going to see it through. The dog was positively responding to his touch and Alvarez was responding to hers. A part of him was invested in this so it had to work. Guerra would be dead and in a box in the Earth before he ever touched Julie. Alvarez was petting her when he heard a knock on the glass and looked up to see O’Reily waiting to be let in. Cyril was a few steps behind him. He easily nodded his head.

“You jealous, Irish?” he laughed as Cyril waited outside with his eyes on the dog. “Don’t worry---you’re still my favorite thing to play with.”

“Fuck you!” O’Reily had to smile at the lewd and sexy insinuation. “Cyril wanted to see the dog. Can I let him in?”

“Yeah---yeah. Tell him to come on.”

“Hi, Mr. Miguel,” Cyril said as he entered the pod. “Can I play with your doggie?”

“Go for it. She needs to get used to people,” Alvarez said as Cyril moved closer. “And it’s just Miguel, okay?”

“Okay. Hi doggie!”

The strangest sensation immediately came over O’Reily. He just wanted to kiss Alvarez all of a sudden. He hid the feeling as he watched both Alvarez and Cyril interact with the dog and play with her. His brother face had a huge smile and he was laughing as Julie sniffed and licked his face. O’Reily just stood back and watched them act like two kids. Alvarez told Cyril to take his place on the bed after he got up so that he would have better access to the dog. He left the two of them together and walked over to the Irishman.

“Your brother really likes her,” he said.

“Yeah. Cyril’s always been a dog lover,” O’Reily said.

“Look, Ryan---she’s smelling my hair!” Cyril exclaimed and laughed.

“That’s good, bro. We got to get ready to go. I’m sure Alvarez has a lot to teach her.”

“It’s all right, Cyril. Play with her a little longer. I know your brother can suck the fun out of everything sometimes,” Alvarez said as he smiled at O’Reily.

“Yeah---he never wants to have fun anymore,” Cyril said, but his eyes never left the dog.

“Shut up, Alvarez!” O’Reily said back.

“You should come make me,” he teased.

“Whatever, man.”

The loco Latino was toying with him---and right in front of his little brother. He wanted to punch him for being so slick, but the strong urge to kiss him had only grown. O’Reily had to get out of the pod before he was unable to control the impulse. Alvarez’s smile did something to him---those lips and that soft skin scorched a fire inside him that was becoming increasingly harder to extinguish. O’Reily was playing a dangerous game with himself and the part he wanted to win was gradually weakening and losing power. It was all so overwhelming.

“You all right there, O’Reily?” Alvarez asked him.

“Huh---yeah,” the words knocked him out of his thoughts. “Just thinking.”

“I don’t even want to know what about.”

“Good---because you won’t,” O’Reily said back.

“I’m sure I’ll find out---eventually,” Alvarez said with that cocky grin of his.

“Uh-huh. Come on, Cyril. Let’s go.”

“But---Ryan!” his brother whined.

“No, Cyril. Time to go.”

“Fine. Bye, girl. Bye, doggie!”

“Later, Cyril,” Alvarez said as he walked out of the pod.

“And I’m not jealous, loco,” O’Reily said in the brief moment they were alone before he left too.

 

 **Officer Murphy gave** him the look when he asked to go to the infirmary. He did not feign illness or hurt himself in order to go, but he had to be there. O’Reily felt that his connection with Gloria Nathan was his only remaining link to his manhood. He had to cultivate it---especially since he had been spending so much time with Alvarez. He also heard that she had attacked the inmate Martinez when he had gotten too close to her. He had to hear what happened.

Murphy gave him a pass and he was on his way to see her. Alvarez had taken the dog to the cafeteria for training. It was going to be a big responsibility taking care of the dog and O’Reily wondered if that was going to cut into their meeting time. He was not jealous of the mutt. He walked into the ward and saw Dr. Nathan in her office filling out paper work. He knocked on the open door.

“Hey, Gloria. I heard what happened in here. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said as she looked up.

“That’s good.”

“Come in. I, um---I met your mother.”

“Yeah, I know. She told me,” O’Reily entered the office and said.

“She seems nice.”

“She’s so completely different than the woman I grew up thinking was my real mom. My other mom, Cyril’s mom, Tessie---that was her first name, Tessie. Growing up, Tessie was always sobbing---she had good reason,” he recounted his childhood. “You know, Cyril and me, we never gave her any cause to smile. It’s crazy, though.”

“What?”

“Now that my mom is here, you know, doing this community service thing, well she and me and Cyril---it’s like we’re a family, you know? It’s fucking great.”

“Ryan, have you told her anything about what went on?” Dr. Nathan seriously asked. “Between you and me? Cyril? My husband? Keenan?”

“No. Uh-uh---uh-uh. I mean, she’s been asking but---”

“Don’t you think she should know?”

“Why?” he got defensive and asked. “What good would it do her, knowing that shit?”

“You can’t just present the good side of yourself to her.”

“Look, Gloria, I’m in Oz, you know. I don’t think my mom thinks I’m up for any sainthood,” O’Reily said matter-of-factly.

“If you want to have a real relationship with her, you have to tell her the whole truth,” she encouraged him to do so.

“Uh-uh. I can’t tell her the whole truth.”

“Why not?”

“Because then she’ll stop loving me,” the Irishman said and realized he would go crazy if he lost his mother now.

“I don’t think so. In my experience, you don’t love Ryan O’Reily by choice.”

Dr. Nathan gave him a warm smile and called in the guard to escort him back to Em City. All the way back to his pod, he found himself comparing her smile to Alvarez’s. Dr. Nathan had beautiful lips, but he had only tasted them once---and it happened so quickly that he forgot what it felt like. Alvarez’s kisses felt as if his soul was being touched or something. The Latino poured everything he was into all the actions they did when they were alone together. Right or wrong---Miguel Alvarez was the best fucking kisser O’Reily had ever come across.

The cafeteria was echoing with Cyril’s voice as he tried to sing. The Irishman was thinking about what Dr. Nathan had told him. He did want to tell his mother about some of the things he had done in this place, but the real fear was there that she would walk out on him---just as she had done when he had been only months old. O’Reily had to be honest with her, though because she deserved it. She needed to know the kind of person her son was and he was not going to hide away the bad from her.

“ _Old McDonald had a farm/E-I E-I O,_ ” Cyril sang out.

“Relax, relax,” she told him.

“ _And on that farm he had some cars._ ”

“Support here,” Fitzgerald pressed against his stomach and lifted it up gently. “Cars?”

“ _E-I E-I O._ ”

“ _With a---_ ” she sand along.

“ _With a vroom vroom._ ”

“Not bad, kid,” O’Reily said but he laughed a little.

“Don’t laugh. At least I’m trying,” Cyril pointed out.

“Yeah, he’s right,” his mother said. “I didn’t see you making the effort.”

“Well---I got a little something something I might bust out at the variety show,” he said as he pulled out a CD from his pocket. “Yeah.”

“What’s that?” Fitzgerald asked.

“You’ll see. Hey, ma, I want to ask you something. I think families need to be one hundred percent honest with each other.”

“Yeah. What, I mean, if your father and I had been honest, if we’d been open, if we’d work through our problems and all our fears maybe I wouldn’t have left,” she recounted and felt a twinge of sadness.

“I think about how different my life would have gone if the two of you had stayed married.”

“Yeah, well don’t---don’t romanticize it. I mean, it still would have been very difficult.”

“No, I know that. But, you know, we would have been, you know, together,” he said. 

“Yeah.”

“After we’re done fucking around here, I want to tell you about some of the things I’ve done, you know, since I’ve been in Oz. And, just to um---I want to warn you mom. It’s not pretty,” O’Reily told her and felt nerves inside his stomach. 

“Well, I wouldn’t expect it to be,” Fitzgerald put her hand on his as she said. “But, it’s good---because, maybe if you tell me about it, it’ll start to make sense to you.”

“Yeah.”

“So---what do you got?”

“Just a little something something,” he smiled.

“Let’s see it.”

He fed the CD into the nearby radio, got up on the stage, and began break dancing for his mother and brother. O’Reily twirled and spun until he got to the floor with his hand and danced around with his legs. Cyril was clapping and his mother was laughing---they really were a family. It was strange that he felt more of a family inside the walls of a maximum security prison than he did when he had been outside and living with his father and stepmother.

The door clanked open and the both returned to Em City. O’Reily went to his pod and emerged a short while later when he saw Kenmin and Chen sitting at a table in the quad and talking. Alvarez was busy training Julie in his pod but took notice of both O’Reily brothers. Something was going to happen and he looked on. Both he and his brother stood outside their pod looking at the two Asians talking. O’Reily had a bad feeling about it all. They were plotting again---and this time they were out in the fucking open for everyone to see.

“Today is the day,” Kenmin said lowly from their table.

“Yup,” Chen agreed.

“Kill them both---but if you can only get one, get Ryan. We can always whack the ‘tard once the older brother’s dead,” he gave out the instruction.

“There’s Shupe,” Chen noticed.

“Hey, O’Reily,” Shupe came up to them and said.

“Not now, Shupe,” he said and kept his eyes focused across the quad.

“It’s important.”

“Okay---you got ten seconds,” the Irishman impatiently said. “What is it?”

“I overheard Li talking to Jia. They were arguing about your mom.”

“What?”

“Li said he’s going to rape her,” Shupe delivered the false information.

“Fuck!” O’Reily got angry.

“You got any tits, man?” the bottom feeder asked.

“Yeah,” he produced a few and the man went on his way.

“Ryan---is that man going to hurt ma?” Cyril asked.

“Not a fucking chance, Cyril,” he said as they walked over to where Kenmin and Chen were sitting. “Whoa---whoa. So, you boys going to hurt my mom, huh?”

“He’s out of control, O’Reily,” Kenmin said in the false attempt of betraying Chen. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, well, I do. Hey.”

O’Reily ran over to Li Chen to get his attention. His rage was unbridled and his judgment cloudy as he tried to protect his mother. Chen swung a punch and he ducked and retrieved a shank from his pocket and stabbed Chen on the side of his body. The man yelled out in pain but elbowed O’Reily to the floor. The shank was on the ground and Cyril quickly grabbed it and stabbed Chen in the stomach. The crowd was rowdy as the hacks scrambled to break up the fight.

The Irishman’s nose was bleeding and there was blood on him and Cyril as they were both being taken to McManus’s office. His heart was racing and his hands shaking as McManus tried to figure out what had just happened. O’Reily felt his throat was dry and he wondered what his mother would have thought of him if she saw him this way. It was all a part of survival in Oz. It was the main reason he had been able to keep himself and Cyril alive in this shithole. Sister Pete looked at each other them with dread and worry on her face.

“I’m telling you---he was going to rape my mother,” O’Reily yelled.

“You have proof of that?” Sister Pete asked.

“Ask Jia---he knows all about it.”

“I will,” she said.

“Meanwhile, I want Cyril in Solitary,” McManus told them both.

“No,” O’Reily answered.

“Li’s just the latest in a long line of people Cyril’s hurt. I want him somewhere he’s not going to hurt anybody else,” the unit manager firmly said.

“Hey---he’s all yours,” Murphy said to another officer that approached Cyril.

“Ryan?” Cyril was confused.

“It’s going to be okay, Cyril,” he told his little brother.

“All right, let’s go,” the officer grabbed Cyril by his arm and started to lead him out.

“Be gentle with him, man! Come on.”

“I don’t want to go! I’m sorry!” Cyril started to scream and panic.

“You cocksucker!” he turned back to McManus and yelled at him.

“Save your anger, O’Reily. This time we’re going to go the distance. Cyril either ends up in the insane asylum or death row.”

“And you’re going to the cage,” Murphy tugged at his arm. “Come on---come on, O’Reily. Let’s go.”

“Sister,” he called out.

“Come on,” Murphy ordered.

“Sister, you got to believe me!” O’Reily said as he was forced out of the office.

“You know---it’s possible he’s telling the truth,” Sister Peter Marie said as she watched him leave.

“O’Reily---the truth? I doubt it,” McManus did not hide his disgust when he said.

Officer Murphy dragged him into the cage in the middle of Em City and locked the door behind him. He was caged up like a fucking animal in the zoo and on display for everyone to see. O’Reily kicked the bars and walked around the small space to think. He had to figure out a way to keep Cyril here. There was no way he was going off to the insane asylum. They were not going to be separated. O’Reily looked around and saw Kenmin walking by him with a hidden smile on his face.

“Hey, Jia---Jia---Jia. Come here---hey, come here,” he tried to get the other man’s attention. “Hey, look, you got to go to McManus and tell him that Li was going to rape my mom, okay?”

“I got nothing to say, O’Reily,” Kenmin said with no emotion in his voice.

“Whoa---whoa---whoa. Hey, Jia. Jia, come on---come on---come on. You got to do that for me, man. You got to tell him,” O’Reily realized how desperate he sounded, but he had no other choice at the moment.

“Your brother’s going to die. They’re going to fry his white ass and I’m going to be sitting in the front row laughing my balls off---you fucking mick!” malice filled Kenmin’s voice as he smiled.

“But you---you fucking chink motherfucker! You fucking kidding me? You’re fucking dead, Jia! You’re fucking dead, you monkey! You little fucking bitch---you’re fucking dead! You’re fucking dead, you fucking chink motherfucker!”

 

 **The Latino had** waited a few hours after the fight for O’Reily to calm down inside the cage before he made his move. From his pod, he had seen everything that had happened between the O’Reily brothers and Kenmin and Chen. Chen had swung the first punch, but the Irishman had approached him angrily first. The Asians had become a big problem and Alvarez knew something had to be done about it. Nevertheless, the first move had to be made before anything else was going to happen.

Alvarez walked Julie out of his pod and over to McManus’s office. O’Reily had to get out of the cage to plan his next move. The unit manager had his door closed and was busy with another inmate so he waited. Julie was rubbing her nose against his leg as he petted her. He wondered how Cyril was doing in Solitary---some of his most dangerous days had been when he was locked away inside that tiny cell. A hack walked out with the prisoner and McManus summoned him in.

“What is it, Alvarez? I’m busy,” he said.

“I have to talk to you about earlier,” Alvarez said as he sat on the chair and Julie sat on the floor next to him.

“It’s really coming along, isn’t it? You’re training her and she’s really responding,” McManus said of the dog.

“Yeah. She’s a good girl.”

“That’s good. So---what’s up?”

“You have to let O’Reily out of the cage.”

“What business is it of yours? You and O’Reily barely even speak to each other,” the unit manager said and he did not want to have the conversation.

“Exactly. We ain’t friends---and, we ain’t enemies, you know?”

“Neutrality in Oz? I don’t believe it.”

“Chen threw the first hit. He swung at O’Reily, McManus,” Alvarez said.

McManus came from behind his desk, sat across from him, and said, “What are you getting out of this, Alvarez? Why are you getting involved?”

“Shit, man. It’s the truth. I don’t owe him shit. He doesn’t need to be in the cage for something Chen started, though.”

McManus averted his eyes and he knew the man was thinking. The unit manager may have been an asshole sometimes, but he usually did the fair and right thing in the end. He and O’Reily had not been on the best of terms ever since the Irishman had gotten to Oz but if he was in the cage when he was not supposed to be there, that was a problem. Alvarez studied him without him even knowing it as he stroked his dog’s head.

“You got something against Chen---Kenmin?” McManus surprisingly asked.

“I don’t know those guys. Plus, Julie here keeps me busy---don’t you girl?” he replied as he shook the dog’s head.

“I see.”

“McManus, Chen swung at O’Reily---he fell to the floor, and Cyril stabbed Chen to defend his brother.”

“Oh---and now you’re going to fucking tell me to release Cyril from Solitary?” his voice was incredulous. “Li Chen is dead because of him---another fucking T.K.O. from Cyril O’Reily.”

“Man---it was defense. He was looking out for his own.”

“Fuck you, Alvarez.”

“Just telling you what I saw,” Alvarez said.

“All right---all right. Get out of my office.”

Julie got up with him and they walked out of the office together. He looked down at the cage---O’Reily was sitting with his back against the metal and to him. He looked like he was thinking---or plotting some nasty way of revenge. The Asians deserved it for playing the dangerous game they were playing. When the víbora was backed into a corner or had no options left, his bite was far worse than his bark. Kenmin was going to pay for what had happened earlier.

About fifteen minutes had passed and Alvarez was in his pod when he saw Murphy walk down to the cage and open it for him to exit. O’Reily got out and immediately went to his pod---he seemed a bit surprised by his release. That grunt Meaney arrived and entered the pod a few minutes later. They had to have been having a meeting about Kenmin. Now that Chen was dead because of Cyril, Kenmin was surely not far to follow.

Alvarez had wondered about Meaney. The young Irish lad had always seemed so willing and eager to do whatever O’Reily wanted. He probably had realized that having O’Reily as an ally was far more safe than having him as an enemy. The Irish gang was not as big or influential as the Homeboys or the Latinos or the Italians, but Ryan O’Reily got shit done inside these walls---and, more times than not, no one ever had any clue as to the extent of which he had pulled the strings. Julie was resting and the Latino was reading a pamphlet from Hinden when McManus knocked on his pod door and entered.

“If I find out you’re lying to me, Alvarez---it’s a one way ticket back to Solitary,” he warned. “A cozy cell right next to Cyril O’Reily.”

“Got no reason to lie, McManus. I told you what I saw---that’s it,” Alvarez calmly said.

“I’m trusting you, Miguel---because, aside from that incident in the gym with Giles, you’ve been on good behavior. You even managed to sweet-talk Hinden into giving you a dog.”

“It’s a funny thing---trust,” he said and smiled.

“Oh yeah---how so?” McManus was in no mood for riddles.

“You can’t give your trust to anyone. It has to be earned.”

“I don’t have time for this. O’Reily’s out on your word. If he so much as---”

“He’s not my responsibility, McManus,” Alvarez interrupted and said. “You can’t blame me for his actions now that he’s out of the cage. Like I said, O’Reily and I are not friends or enemies. I saw the fight and just told you what I saw.”

“All right, then.”

McManus left the pod and walked back to his office. Alvarez looked down and past the quad to see O’Reily pacing in his cell and Meaney still there. He got up and poured some water in the dish for Julie because she was barking for it. Alvarez wanted to know what the plans were, but he could not go down there now---especially when McManus thought he was lying about what he saw during the fight. He was a fool. Alvarez went back to reading the pamphlet as Julie eagerly lapped up water.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**Unit J closet. Tomorrow, after lunch.**

**Julie was comfortably napping on** his bed as he got ready to go. They had not been able to talk to one another since O’Reily had gotten out of the cage yesterday, but Alvarez had gotten his note during dinner last night. The dog was comfortable being by herself and he had a session in about an hour so she was safe. He wondered how Cyril was holding up in Solitary. He had to have been confused and lost without his big brother there to protect and guide him.

Alvarez made up the lie about going to the gym and was let out of Em City to start heading towards Unit J. The closet was fucking small, but he was going to take whatever privacy came his way to hear what O’Reily had planned against Kenmin. The Latino watched his back and walked quicker when he saw the door in sight. He wiggled the doorknob open and slipped inside and out of view. He had barely finished locking the door when he felt his body being turned around and a pair of lips crashing onto his own. Alvarez kissed back hard and with the passion that was naturally inside him---flowing through his bloodstream.

“What---what was that for?” he said when breath was back in his body.

“I hear you had something to do with me getting out of the cage early,” Ryan O’Reily said and their lips almost touched as he spoke.

“How’d you hear that?”

“I had Meaney watching McManus’s office---he was watching who entered. You were the only one I had ties with,” he said and they kissed again. “Thanks, loco.”

“Does he know anything?”

“Meaney knows what I tell him to know. He’s no threat to anyone---just a good gofer.”

“I tried to get Cyril out of Solitary, but McManus is a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah. Cyril’s not going to do good in there. I’m fucking worried about him.”

“Come on---let’s figure out some moves.”

The two of them got away from the door and sat on the floor behind a large shelf to strategize on their next moves. O’Reily’s green eyes flared with resentment and worry as they tried to come up with the next move. Kenmin had placed him in a dangerous situation and a quick retaliation was obviously going to be expected by the Asian and by McManus as well. Alvarez thought about ways to bring Kenmin down but he took a more hands-on approach when dealing with people he wanted out of the way. O’Reily preferred to keep his hands clean and he knew that.

“First thing---I got to get Cyril out of there. Chen’s murder could put him on death row,” he said.

“You can’t play the self defense card?”

“McManus won’t buy it. He wants Cyril out of here and in the loony bin. Fuck him!”

“How did it start? Shupe came over to you, didn’t he?” Alvarez said and tried to figure out their options.

“Yeah. He told me that he heard Chen say he was going to rape my mom.”

“Then he’s the key. Convince him to go to McManus and tell him what he told you.”

“Fuck---why didn’t I think of that? Fucking Jia didn’t want to say shit and I knew it was a setup,” O’Reily said and the words processed in his brain.

“If Shupe can back you up, then Cyril could come out of Solitary. He was just trying to protect his mom, too.”

“He really does think of her as his mom. Hell---I think he even loves her more than he ever did his real mom.”

It was true. Suzanne Fitzgerald made Cyril laugh and smile and treated him as if he were her son. She knew he was handicapped but never treated him as such. And, when O’Reily had finally told her about some of the things he had been responsible for in Oz, she did not stop loving him. She did not stop loving either of them. It was hard to tell her the truth, but she had to know who her son really was and what he was capable of doing.

“What about Kenmin? What are you going to do about him?” the Latino asked.

“I’m not going to retaliate yet.”

“Good. Both he and McManus would expect the hit.”

“Yeah---and the viper doesn’t strike when it’s expected of him to,” O’Reily laughed. “He’ll end up the same way Chen did---eventually.”

“I don’t call you venomous for nothing.”

“Where’s the mutt?”

“In my pod. She was sleeping when I left,” Alvarez said and he got closer. “I told you before---you don’t have to be jealous.”

“And I told you I’m not fucking jealous!”

Alvarez kissed him and immediately ran a hand under his shirt to feel his body. O’Reily did not have the same muscle tone to his body as he did, but he was lean and slender. He had a broad chest and shoulders and his white skin was practically flawless aside from some stray scars. It also did not hurt that he had a nice piece of meat between his legs. Their kisses morphed into the more passionate ones Alvarez had become synonymous with. O’Reily’s hands touched his muscled arms that were exposed because the Latino mainly wore sleeveless t-shirts---always had to show off those arms.

“Uh-uh. It’s your turn to be against that fucking cold floor,” O’Reily stopped and said when he felt his body being led down to the ground.

“Okay---this time, papa,” he smiled.

“We’ll see about that.”

He took off his shirt and flipped his body so that his back was to the floor. He swore his spine felt the freezing temperature of the ground itself, and was waiting for O’Reily to come and warm him up again. The Irishman seemed a bit less resistant to them being together like this, unlike their initial encounter. Some hesitation was still there---for them both, but it felt too good to touch and kiss and be so close to someone else. Especially in a place where those things were banned and were never supposed to happen. Alvarez arched his back up because the floor had become too cold for his skin.

“Uh-huh---told you. It’s no fucking picnic being down there,” he laughed at him as he slipped his own shirt over his head and off his body.

“Hey, O’Reily, shut the fuck up and come warm me up!”

“What do you want me to do, huh? Do I look like a goddamn fireplace?” the víbora slyly smirked.

“Oh---I don’t know. Touch me. Kiss me. Or maybe both.”

O’Reily slipped off the other man’s shoes and then got to work on his pants. The last time they had done this, it was fun but uncomfortable because both their pants had been around their knees so movement had been mainly restricted. That was not going to be the case this time, though. Alvarez groaned at the touch when he felt a hand rest on his still clothed crotch. O’Reily got the pants undone and pulled everything off. Miguel Alvarez was completely naked on the floor in front of him with the exception of white socks covering his feet.

The man was a fucking god. The very light tan to his skin was so sexy and his body was toned in all the right places. Powerful breaths brought his masculine chest to life and cascaded down his ripped abs that protected his stomach so well. The scar from where Guerra had stabbed him was still fresh but had completely healed. O’Reily only looked and was already turned on by the man lying naked in front of him. Alvarez had smooth lips and a pair of big, expressive eyes. He was easily one of the most handsome motherfuckers in the entire prison.

“You enjoying the view or what? I’m still waiting to be warmed up over here,” Alvarez asked as he noticed him.

“So impatient,” he gently scolded when he was knocked out of his thoughts.

“You were checking me out. I saw you, víbora.”

“Listen,” O’Reily nervously said as his warm hand touched and stroked against Alvarez’s beautiful abs. “I never said this, or ever fucking thought this about another man before, but you’re one fucking handsome bastard, Miguel. I guess that means I’m a fucking fag, huh---if I think you’re handsome?”

“We don’t have to label shit, Ryan,” Alvarez propped up from the floor, inched closer to him, and said.

“I was just fucking rubbing your stomach. I want to kiss you---I fucking want to bring you pleasure. You’re a goddamn man I think is handsome and I want to touch more and more. What the hell is that shit, then?”

It had obviously been eating him up inside for a while now. He felt the things he said, but felt as if his body had betrayed him for feeling such things in the first place---things that had been against his core beliefs from the beginning. O’Reily had tried so hard over the years to prove to everyone in Oz that he was no faggot, so it had to have rocked him to the very core when he had started to feel closeness to Alvarez. It had to rock the foundation of his manhood when he realized that the sensations were not going away and that he only wanted more and more.

Alvarez sympathized because he felt many of the same things O’Reily felt. It was fucking death to be gay in Spanish culture. The men were supposed to be macho womanizers that went after every pussy they could find. And, while it was true that Alvarez had never experience any of these sensations before Ryan O’Reily, he had never regretted them because his body always knew right. He honestly was not sure if he was a fag or not, but he knew he did not want to stop being with the Irishman. He had not felt this level of touch and affection since his days with Maritza.

“Look at me,” he said and their eyes locked. “Hey---don’t worry about that stuff. Let’s just be here---and now.”

“Alvarez, you don’t understand. I feel---I feel less of a fucking man being here like this. That shit’s not going away. This isn’t me. Here,” O’Reily said as he reached over and tossed him his clothes. “Get dressed. I can’t do this.”

“Hey, it’s cool. No pressure,” the Latino smiled and got up to put his pants back on.

O’Reily got up and threw his shirt back over his head. His mind was all over the place and he had just told Alvarez something deep and personal---a fear of his. It had only grown stronger since their first encounter and he had felt himself slipping under for the longest time. But now, he had to clear his mind of Miguel Alvarez and take care of his brother and mother. They were both depending on him to fix the broken situation they were all caught up in. O’Reily walked over to the door and was ready to leave.

“I got to get back to my pod,” the Irishman said in an unreadable way. “Redding rode me hard today. He got control of the cafeteria this morning. I---I need some rest.”

“Yeah---I have a lesson soon,” Alvarez said and was fully dressed.

“I’ll let you know when and where the next meeting will be.”

“Hey,” he pulled O’Reily’s arm to stop him from going and moved their bodies against the door. “You’re never going to be less of a man.”

“That’s easy to say,” the Irishman said and was uncomfortable by their sudden closeness again.

“No---no, it isn’t. If my father ever knew I kissed another man, he’d slit my throat without thinking about it. If my grandfather knew, he’d come back from the grave and kill me without blinking twice. Spanish cultures see shit like this as being less than human---and most of the men think fags aren’t even worth living. But, I know my manhood isn’t threatened, Ryan. Someone could chop my fucking balls off and my manhood still wouldn’t be threatened.”

“You’re fucking crazy! If someone chopped off your balls, of course your manhood would be gone.”

“No,” Alvarez said firmly. “Sleeping with a woman or making a kid doesn’t make you a man. It doesn’t make you any more or less of a man.”

“How the hell are you so sure about all this? You told me you weren’t a fag.”

“I’m not---and I’m not sure about anything, anymore,” he said honestly. “I just know I like your touch---and, in this fuckhole, any kind of pleasure I can get, I’m taking it.”

“I have to go,” O’Reily said.

“You’re never fucking going to be less of a man, Ryan,” the Latino repeated as he moved in and kissed him. “I don’t want to stop, but I’ll give you time---time to sort everything out. We’ll be partners if that’s all you want us to be.”

Alvarez watched him leave and waited for his turn while his hand rubbed the back of his neck. What just happened was one of the deepest and most intense conversations he had ever had inside these walls and he was worried about O’Reily. There was already so much on his mind with Cyril and his mother---now all this was in there too. Alvarez was truly as confused as he was when it came to them, but touch overrode all his senses and cleared his mind whenever they were together. His body craved sensual contact and it was complicated what he felt for Ryan O’Reily. If he even felt anything beyond the touching.

He returned to his pod to get Julie because it was almost time for the training session. She was patiently waiting for him when he entered and petted her. Alvarez remembered that Hill was in the hospital ward because of a drug overdose and he wondered what was going to happen with his dog. He grabbed her by her leash and left Em City to go to the cafeteria. Penders was already there and Hinden was taking notes. He entered and walked over to the other man.

“You heard the news?” the Latino said to him.

“Yeah---too bad,” Hinden replied. ”Augustus was doing a great job with Layla.”

“Well, what are the steaks for?” Penders asked.

“They’re for today’s training.”

“We’re going to teach the dogs to cook?” he laughed.

She shot him a look and then explained, “You’re going to teach the dogs self-control. Now, it’s of primary importance that your dog’s attention at all times remains focused on you, even when tempted with those things that, as a dog, they love.”

“Like raw fucking meat,” Alvarez said and understood.

“Or cats, or other dogs---anything. So, the two of you head over there,” Hinden directed them.

“This is fucking unbelievable. You know, I haven’t seen a steak in six years, and now you’re going to put it on the floor, so a dog won’t eat it?” Penders said.

“Miguel, you go first,” she told him. “Have Julie lead you along, but towards the steak.”

“Yeah---but what do I do if she goes for it?” the Latino asked.

“You give her leash a firm tug and say, ‘no’.”

Alvarez walked along with Julie and her nose immediately went to the raw steak so he pulled her leash and said, “No! Julie, no! Good girl---good girl. Come on, Julie---no! Julie! No! Shit---this is going to take a while.”

Julie kept sniffing the piece of meat on the floor as he kept gently tugging and scolding her to forget it and move on. The dog’s instincts were overpowering and Alvarez had to break that chain of thought if this was going to be successful. He tugged at the leash until she stopped sniffing the meat and walked on with him. Hinden gave a clap and they both walked to the side as Penders went up to do the trial. Alvarez scratched Julie behind her ear as a reward.

The rest of the session went on and both dogs had become more focused on their masters than the piece of meat on the floor. They were dismissed and both men headed back to Em City with their dogs. Alvarez felt as if his thoughts were going to crush him---what had happened in the storage room weighed heavily on him. He knew O’Reily’s eyes had been all over his naked body, but he was scared of whatever was inside him---they both were. He passed the quad to head back up to the pod when Julie approached and sniffed Kenmin.

“Cute pooch,” the Asian said as he touched Julie. “You know, when I was nine, my parents gave me a dog---this beautiful Chesapeake Bay retriever. One day, I decided to dock the dog’s tail.”

“Dock---what’s that?” Alvarez looked at him and already disliked him.

“Amputate.”

“Why?”

“I just thought he’d look better. I grabbed the butcher knife from the kitchen and just cut his tail off, cropped his ears---kept on going. By the time the folks got home, they were pissed---dead puppy everywhere,” the sick fuck said.

“Get your hands off the dog,” he said firmly.

“I’m kidding.”

“I don’t care. Get your hands off my fucking dog,” Alvarez slightly raised his voice.

“Do what he says, Jia,” Morales approached them from behind and said.

“Someday, Morales. Someday,” Kenmin said and walked away.

“Are you protecting me now?” the Latino said.

“No---I just hate that yellow scum fuck. And, I’ve got a question to ask. You’ve been tight with Mukada, right?” he asked.

“Yeah---on and off,” Alvarez said and wondered what he was up to.

“I was wondering something.”

“What?”

“Where the fuck is his office?”

He looked at the leader of El Norte with a look of surprise on his face. Something was definitely going on in that mind of his, but Alvarez did not care nor did he want to be a part of it. Those days were behind him. He gave Morales what he had asked for and they both went their separate ways. O’Reily was not in his pod when he took a quick glance over in that direction before he headed over to his own pod. Julie immediately went for her dish with water.

He wondered what O’Reily was up to and what kind of fate was going to befall that bastard Kenmin. He had to admit he was a little hurt from before, though. Alvarez was naked against the floor and had been waiting for him to make his move---a move that never came. He literally saw O’Reily trying to push himself forward to do what they both wanted, but it was too much for him. Alvarez was not going to push him more, though. There was something there between them and he was going to remain patient and wait to explore it fully. He watched Julie as she was playing with and licking her front paws.

 

**They were in** the infirmary office discussing his brother. So many things of the past weeks had distracted Ryan O’Reily that he was starting to make mistakes. He was supposed to see through Kenmin’s warnings about Chen---it was a fucking amateur move and he fell for it. Now, Cyril was in Solitary and death row was probably next. And, what happened with Alvarez earlier in the closet made him feel angry, but mainly disappointed in himself. Cyril had acted out in Solitary and the guards had beaten him to get him under control. It was all so fucking much from every fucking side.

“His violent episodes are increasing,” Sister Pete was saying. “Every day now, he’s getting into some kind of brawl. We can’t just keep sedating him.”

“Well, then, get him out of Solitary. It’s making him go crazy---send him back to me,” he told them.

“Ryan, I’ve tried. The warden refuses,” Dr. Nathan said.

“Why?”

“Ryan---you brother killed Li Chen,” the nun said.

“In self-defense. He was going to rape my ma.”

“But, unfortunately, you have no proof of that. And Jia denies ever having said that to you.”

“Fucking chink bastard,” he said angrily. “Because of that cocksucker, Cyril’s facing the death penalty now.”

“If only we could find someone else to corroborate your story,” Dr. Nathan said.

O’Reily remembered Alvarez’s words and said, “Oh, wait---fuck, there is. I’ve been so distracted I forgot. Glen Shupe. He overheard Li threatening my mom.”

“I’ll go tell Leo,” Sister Pete said and left to the warden’s office.

“You got to handle it so careful. You know, you got to treat it like a piece of fine glass. It’s that fragile.”

“What is?” she asked.

“Happiness.”

The words had flown out of him without him thinking about it first. He was shocked when he did not know whether it was his brother that he was referring to or Miguel Alvarez. A hack came with orders to escort him to Sister Pete’s office so he left Dr. Nathan behind and followed quietly. His mind was deep in thought about Cyril but also about Alvarez. Maybe ending the partnership was the best thing---but O’Reily could not leave him by himself in here. He wanted to watch his back, and having Alvarez as an ally was perfect because of how dangerous he was.

In the office, Sister Pete was there with Katherine McClain. She was the lawyer that had tried to get Beecher paroled and had been helping Keller with his case. They shook hands and all sat as Sister Pete explained Cyril’s case and condition to her. O’Reily was focused and determined to get his brother as far away from death row as possible. Time was ticking away and something needed to be done soon.

“Yeah, that’s going to be a tough one,” the defense attorney was saying to the room. “The history of Cyril’s violent behavior, the death of Hamid Khan, putting Jia Kenmin in a coma---various other altercations. That’ll play right the prosecutors hands. And, Sister, according to your analysis, he knows right from wrong.”

“Yes.”

“Right. Like I said, this is going to be tough. I’ll take the case.”

“You will?” O’Reily happily said.

“But, Mr. O’Reily, if I were in your shoes, I’d go with a name brand,” McClain said.

“Wait---what do you mean a name brand?”

“A lawyer who can razzle-dazzle,” she explained. “Someone who will turn Cyril’s mental state into a cause---headlines, op-ed pieces, segments on the nightly news.”

“You can’t do that?” the Irishman asked.

“Not as well as others. You need Barnum F. Lee Bailey, Johnnie Cochran, Ken Starr.”

“Come on---get real. Those guys are expensive.”

“Yes. So, I guess the question for you and your family is---how much is your brother’s life worth?”

The question she posed did not sit well with him, but he had no choice but to listen to her. Cyril was invaluable to him, but it was clear that he was going to have to come up with a lot of cash to turn his case into a cause. O’Reily was running out of options and he had to make decisions quickly because time was going as well. As much as he wanted to retaliate against Kenmin right now, he stuck to his own thoughts, as well as Alvarez’s words, and just continued to play the game. His time would come.

On his way back to Em City, he bribed the hack to take him to the cafeteria to talk to his mom. She had to know what was going on and he needed someone to talk to. The only other person he would have considered was the Latino---things between them were too weird right now, though. He fucking stripped the man bare and then had a panic attack and told him to put his clothes back on. It was so damn childish and O’Reily hated that. He hated his uncertainty when it came to Alvarez. They sat on the piano bench and he filled her in on what was happening.

“So, I’m the cause of all this?” Fitzgerald said in a saddened voice.

“Ah, no---you’re not,” her son reassured.

“Yeah---because you tried to warn me that something could happen and I didn’t listen.”

“Look, don’t blame yourself, okay? The truth is, having you around has been great for me and Cyril. Now, we just have to figure out some way to get him off of death row.”

“Let’s do what that woman said,” she suggested. “Let’s hire a big-time attorney.”

“You got money?”

“Well, I’ve got some savings.”

O’Reily told her, “Well, whatever you have, it’s not going to be enough.”

“Well, have you talked to your father---to your Aunt Brenda?”

“Why? What good would that do?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” his mother said honestly. “But they deserve to know what’s going on. We need a family meeting.”

“You, and dad---in the same room?” O’Reily said and could only imagine what that was going to be like.

“Yes.”

“Have you seen him lately?”

Fitzgerald had an unreadable expression on her face when she said, “No---I haven’t seen Seamus O’Reily in over thirty years. But, I can’t think of a better reason to stare the old bastard down.”

“I don’t know.”

It was late in the afternoon when he finally got off the phone with his father and aunt. He had spent a long time convincing them to have a family meeting today before visiting hours were over. His father had been such a bastard but he had agreed to come so O’Reily kept his anger at bay. It was a step in the right direction. A direction he hadn’t been on in what seemed like weeks. His mother had to convince him to do this and he was glad she did because something was getting done.

The hack led him into the interaction room and his mom hugged him as they waited for his father and aunt. It was late in the afternoon so the visiting room was abandoned. They were the only two in there, aside from the officer that was waiting at the door. O’Reily did not know what was going to happen here but he had to fight for Cyril. They had to become a family and fight for him. The guard entered with his father and aunt behind him.

“Hey, dad. Aunt Brenda---hi,” he said as he got up. “How are you?”

“I brought chocolate peanut clusters---Cyril’s favorite kind,” Brenda said as she came further into the room.

“Oh, I’ll make sure he gets them---thanks. Have a seat.”

She sat across from Fitzgerald and said, “Suzanne.”

“Brenda.”

“For God’s sake, Seamus, we came all this way,” his aunt looked back and scolded the man. “Take another two steps.”

“I won’t bite. I promise,” Fitzgerald said.

“Like you ever kept a promise,” Seamus O’Reily stepped into the room and said. “Let’s get down to business.”

“Okay---so I explained the particulars to both of you over the phone. And I just---I need to know if we can afford to hire the best lawyer to defend Cyril,” the Irishman said.

“How much are we talking here?” Brenda asked.

“Upwards of twenty thousand,” Fitzgerald replied.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she said.

“Well, neither of us have that kind of money---not even if we stacked together our nickels and dimes,” his father said to them.

“Aunt Brenda, I remember when you got hurt on the job, and the company, they cut you a big fat compensation check.”

“That’s the money I live on, Ryan. I mean, that’s all I have for my old age,” Brenda replied.

“Don’t you be asking Brenda to risk her future because of Cyril,” Seamus O’Reily snapped at him.

“She says she loves him,” O’Reily answered back.

“I do.”

“But not enough.”

“Wait a minute---wait a minute. How come your mother hasn’t asked her family to step up?” Seamus O’Reily glared at her and said.

“You know as well as I that my family disowned me,” Fitzgerald replied.

“Oh, that’s right, they disowned you. But, not for walking away from your husband---your children, no. For blowing up that cop---for bringing shame on your father, the lace curtain fuck!” he continued on his rant.

“I have accepted responsibility for my actions, Seamus. Maybe it’s time you do the same.”

“Hey, I took fucking responsibility thirty-two years ago by putting food in their mouth, paying the rent, wiping their dirty asses! And where were you---where the fuck were you?”

“Let me ask you something, Seamus, and tell me the truth for the first time in your life,” his mother said. “You and Tessie got together real quick after I left, and, you had Cyril a year after we had Ryan.”

“So?”

“So, were you fucking her behind my back?”

“Yeah,” the man nonchalantly said. “In fact, I fucked her the day Ryan was born.”

“Okay, enough! Please,” Ryan O’Reily slammed his hands against the table because everything was getting out of control. “We’re talking about Cyril here, okay? You know, I mean, shit. We’re talking about saving his life. I mean, this shit don’t matter. I mean---”

“You’re wrong, Ryan,” his aunt Brenda said. “This shit is all there is. You say we have to save him. For what? A lifetime in Oz? You know, with his mind all a muddle. Maybe the only generous thing we can all do for the boy is to let him die.”

“What?” he said.

“Come on, Seamus. Give me a ride home.”

“No---no, Brenda, please don’t go,” O’Reily tried to keep her. “Please? There’s more.”

“See you in another three decades, you cunt,” Seamus O’Reily said to Fitzgerald and they both left.

“I’m so sorry for that. I---” she said to him.

“No, it’s okay. Actually, it went better than I expected.”

“Oh, Ryan---you know she’s wrong,” his mother told him. “She’s wrong, because you and me and Cyril, we are a family. I mean, we’re tattered and torn, but we’re going to get through this.”

“Yeah. Aunt Brenda’s right about one thing, though. The best thing we can do for Cyril is to let him die,” O’Reily did not want to say the words but it was all getting to him.

“Oh, shit.”

The pressure was eating him alive and even a hug from his mom did nothing to calm him down. The hack took him from the visitor’s room to the infirmary ward, per Sister Peter Marie’s request, to see his brother. Cyril had acted out in Solitary and the hacks had to subdue him. Dr. Nathan had sedated him when O’Reily had come in and his wrists and ankles were strapped to the bed as if he was an animal. It pained him to see his brother restrained that way. O’Reily was staring off and thinking of what his next move was going to be.

“Hiya, Ryan,” Cyril said when his eyes fluttered open and he saw his big brother by his side.

“Hey, kid,” he smiled but stopped when Cyril started to struggle against the restraints. “Oh, wait. Shh. Hey---hey. It’s okay.”

“What happened? Was I bad again?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry,” he said in his childlike way.

“It’s okay.”

“Can we go back to Em City now?”

“No, Cyril. I’m afraid you have to go back to Solitary,” the Irishman told him and his emotions were all over the place.

“I don’t like Solitary.”

“Oh, I know.”

“It’s scary. It’s lonely,” Cyril said quietly.

“Believe me, if I could change places with you, I’d do it in a fucking second,” O’Reily said lowly as his voice broke and he knew water was forming behind his eyes.

“Ryan, are you crying?” his little brother looked at him and asked.

He cleared his throat and said, “No. Boys don’t cry.”

“That’s right. Daddy always said, ‘Boys don’t cry.’”

“And Daddy knows best,” O’Reily fought hard for the water to be evaporated.

“Out of the way, O’Reily,” Officer Lopresti pushed him to the side and said. “Are you going to behave yourself, hmm?”

“Yes, sir,” Cyril answered the officer back.

O’Reily let go of his brother’s hand as the hack loosened the restraints to take him back to Solitary. He was crying---his whole body was hurting for his baby brother. But, it was true that boys don’t cry---boys were never supposed to cry. Officer Lopresti and Cyril left and O’Reily was escorted back to Em City because it was almost time for lights out. The family meeting had managed to do nothing but hash up old dirt that only deserved to stay buried in the ground.

The buzzer sounded for the final time that night and all the lights of Em City went out. He stripped out of his pants and shirt and went up to his bunk to get the sleep he knew was not easily going to come to him. O’Reily rested his head on the pillow and looked out at the darkened quad. His body felt like it was numb as he was crawled deep inside his own head to try to comfort himself. The pod felt dead without Cyril there. O’Reily did not realize---maybe he did not even care when a tear escaped its confines and slid all the way down his cheek as he continued to look out at the quad. His body did not feel anything.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **Days passed and they both** knew it was still too early to carry out any kind of plan of revenge against Kenmin. Everything was still fresh and Alvarez had not spoken to him over the past few days. O’Reily was avoiding him—they only spoke in passing, and it was only making jokes on one another so that no one would be the wiser to anything that had been going on. Julie also kept him busy and he knew O’Reily was busy with Cyril and everything, but they had made time to strategize in the past.

After the cafeteria was cleared of breakfast, he had a lesson with Hinden. He was going to give O’Reily the time he needed to work out his own problems—the time to figure out their partnership. Alvarez decided to concentrate on himself and leave the other man be. He missed talking to him, though---missed their lips together. No matter what, O’Reily was dealing with real issues when it came to them and he was not going to push it any further. If anything came up that was important, they would have a meeting.

Both he and Penders waited for Hinden to show up in the cafeteria. She had a meeting with McManus and was running late. Alvarez saw what looked like an obstacle course and had an idea of what today’s training session was going to be about. Penders was treating his dog more like a pet than what he was supposed to be---the fool. The Latino thought about what he wanted to accomplish with this program and the amends he wanted to try to make. The buzzer sounded and Hinden came in.

“Morning, gentleman,” she said.

“Check this out. Fetch,” Penders said as he threw a toothbrush on the floor and his dog ran after it. “Come here. He fetches.”

“That’s one thing he’ll have to unlearn,” she disapproved. “I told you; don’t teach the dog recreational activities.”

“You brush your teeth with that?” Alvarez asked him.

“Today’s focus is on control. Start walking around this area,” she pointed to the small course and told them.

Both men took control of their dogs and began walking around the course. Hinden looked like she was taking notes on their posture and movement. Julie had come far from their first training session and he was proud of the progress they had made together. Both men and their dogs walked along the path with neither noticing when Hinden gave the signal. The hack standing nearby fired a starter pistol into the air and both dogs and trainers alike jumped and were startled at the loud burst of sound.

“What the fuck was that?” Penders looked around and asked.

“Scared the shit out of me,” Alvarez said as one of his hands was resting on his chest.

“I’m sorry, but your reaction’s not important---the dogs’ is. They have to maintain focus, even in the event of loud or startling noises,” she explained.

“So, what are you going to do, make them deaf?” Penders laughed.

“Oh, yeah, that’s a great idea---deaf dog, blind people. You’re a fucking genius,” Alvarez said sarcastically.

“You teach the dog by standing on his leash and saying ‘chill’.”

“Chill?” Penders said.

“Chill,” she responded.

They walked the course again and waited for the loud pop once again. The gun fired and Pender’s dog went frantic and lost control. He yelled the command at his dog and was reprimanded by Hinden. He was not properly following her instructions. Julie was startled and became curious, but Alvarez stroked on her leash and told her to chill a few times and she started to regain her focus. It was only a few moments before she was back in full control and they were walking the course again as if nothing had ever happened.

“Good girl, Julie.”

He walked with Julie and Hinden back to Em City and to McManus’s office because they had to talk. O’Reily was watching TV when he returned but their eyes did meet for a few moments. It was nothing, though. Alvarez and Hinden headed up the stairs to McManus’s office. He must have been lonely without Cyril. The unit managed welcomed them both in and they started talking. He had to talk to O’Reily somehow.

“Remember when we first started, I told you about officer Rivera, you know, what I’d done to him, you know, blinded him, and how I just wanted to do right?” the Latino said.

“Yeah---you’re doing that.”

“Yeah, but I just want to do right by him direct. I want Rivera to have Julie.”

“Well, what’s the man’s status?” Hinden asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from Eugene in a long time,” McManus said to them both.

“Call him,” she said. “Have him come in---we can talk, assess his want and need of a guide dog.”

“Well, I’ll try, but knowing how he feels about this place, it’s a long shot,” McManus said. 

Alvarez felt like he had accomplished something as he and Julie left McManus’s office behind. O’Reily had moved from the TV area to his pod and he wanted to go talk to him but still he stayed away. Even though they had not really spoken in days, everything felt awkward and forced between them recently. Upon entering their cell, Julie went and curled up in her favorite corner. Alvarez made sure she had water and food before he closed the pod door behind him and went for an ask from Murphy.

He left Em City and headed over to Sister Pete’s office. He needed someone to talk to for his plan to work. The Sister was going to understand his need to do something good and she was going to help him, especially since he was genuine in his actions. Alvarez needed her to fight for him---needed her to be her convincing self. She opened the door and smiled as she invited him inside her office.

“Hello, Miguel,” she greeted as she ushered him in.

“Can I have a moment?”

“Of course. Officer, can you step outside please,” Sister Pete instructed him.

“I’ll be right out here,” the officer said and left.

“Come on---sit. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I---I have a favor to ask, Sister,” Alvarez said as he took a seat inside the office.

“Okay. Are you in some kind of trouble, Miguel?”

“No---no. Nothing like that.”

“Okay. Tell me.”

So, you know, I’ve been doing the guide dog training program,” he said.

“Yes. I hear you are doing a wonderful job with Julie.”

“I need you to convince Eugene Rivera to take Julie, Sister,” he told her the favor he wanted.

“I don’t understand.”

“I want him to have Julie. I---I trained her especially for him. He has to have her.”

Sister Peter Marie gave him a look as if she wanted an explanation of his words. There was no harder place to earn redemption than in Oz. Even the people that were supposed to believe in them had their doubts. The nun had doubts. Maybe it was questions as to why this was so important to him. Alvarez was tired of having to explain it. He fucking blinded another man as some kind of pathetic initiation attempt into a gang that wanted him dead anyway. Alvarez came to regret what he had done tremendously. Because of him, a man was never going to be able to see again.

“What do you mean ‘especially’?” Sister Pete asked him. “Miguel, is there something going on here?”

“I want redemption, you know, because I live with that fucking fact every day. Every day I see what I did to him---I know what I did to him. It’s stuck inside my head. I have to do this. I have to make something right,” Alvarez said and tried to make his words fit together to say what he wanted them to say.

“You mean blinding Rivera?”

“His face haunts me---it’s no one fault but me. I don’t expect his forgiveness, you know, but I have to give him something that will help him through his life now. I trained her just for him.”

“You keep saying you trained Julie especially for him. What did you do, Miguel?” the nun’s concern grew each time he said that.

“I---I can’t tell you. I want him to be the first one to know.”

“Is it something dangerous? Are you planning to hurt Eugene Rivera?”

“No, Sister. I promise---promise it isn’t anything dangerous. I never had anything against Rivera,” the Latino was ashamed of the stupid reason he gouged the man’s eyes out.

“So, why did you blind him, Miguel? If there was no bad blood between you two, why did you do it?”

“I---I can’t. That’s not important now. I want you to convince Rivera to take her---please. You have to do it.”

“Miguel---you know, Father Ray and I have had many conversations over the years about you,” she said as she seriously looked at him. “Even when you had turned your back on him during the riot, he still believed you had a good soul---that you were a man of character and a strange sense of nobility. He still believes those things today.”

“But, you don’t believe that---believe me?” Alvarez said and it stung. “You think---you think I trained Julie to attack Rivera.”

Sister Peter Marie smiled and rested her hand on his before she said, “No, Miguel. No---I don’t think that at all. I believe Father Ray has always been right about you. And, I believe you.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I can see how much this program has meant to you so, I will try to convince Eugene and Tina that they need Julie in their lives.”

“Thank you, Sister. This means a lot to me, you know?” he said.

“I know. I’ll do what I can.” 

 

 **He had received** the news from Officer Murphy earlier in the day and was not happy about it. Someone else was going to occupy his cell---someone that was not Cyril. O’Reily had been in a foul mood over the news as he waited for the new inmate to be processed into Em City. And, what was worst of all---he was a fucking priest. His podmate was going to be a priest. The Irishman saw the hack escorting the man to their pod and went up to introduce himself before they went in.

“I’m on the bottom?” Meehan asked as he looked around the pod.

“You got that right.”

“There was an O’Reily family in my last parish. St. Patrick’s---”

“Well, it wasn’t mine. We only went to church for funerals,” O’Reily said curtly.

“Oh---I see,” he responded and went to start making his bed.

“No, you don’t see dick. Just because I was baptized a Catholic doesn’t meant I got any use for a fucking priest.”

“Duly noted.”

O’Reily just gave him a look before he left out of the pod because he had somewhere else to be. He and Alvarez had not met in days and it was slowly getting to him. He was never going to admit it to himself, though. It was weakness to do so and he was not fucking weak. He saw that the Latino was busy training Julie in his pod when he looked up from the quad---their eyes did not connect. The Irishman left to see his brother off on the first day of his trial. He walked over to receiving and discharging, where his mother was waiting.

“I’ve cleared my schedule so I can attend Cyril’s trial every day,” Fitzgerald said. “So, I’ll be sitting right behind him in the courtroom.”

“Mm-hmm,” was all he managed to get out.

“Ryan, he is not going to get convicted. He’s not going to get the death penalty.”

“Hi-ho---hi-ho. Hey, how you feeling, kid?” O’Reily asked and hugged Cyril as he appeared with McClain.

“Scared.”

“Don’t be, okay? Ma’s going to be with you all the way, all right?”

“Look---brought you a brand new suit,” Fitzgerald said as she held it up. “Hope it fits because I wasn’t sure about the sizes.”

“Cyril, we’re not allowed to travel with you on the bus, okay? So, I’m going to take Suzanne down in my car. We’ll see you just before the trial begins, okay?” McClain spoke to him.

“Okay.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Fitzgerald said.

“I wish you were coming,” Cyril turned to his brother and said.

“No, you don’t need me---you’ll be fine. Now look, if you start to panic, all right, I just want you to think of me, okay? Doing this.”

O’Reily pressed his thumbs against his temples and waved his fingers in the air as he stuck his tongue out and made crude noises with the air. Cyril smiled and laughed when he saw his brother acting goofy. Fitzgerald smiled too when she saw the love between her two boys. No matter what anyone said, they were a family---the three of them. McClain got them prepared for the day, as they all got ready to go. O’Reily gave him one last hug.

“Let’s go---let’s go,” Officer Mineo said.

He had to blow off some steam before lunch duties so he went to the gym. Cyril’s trial had probably been under way already and he wanted to know what was happening. He wanted to talk to someone about his frustrations but was too freaked out by what Alvarez was doing to him to talk to him. It was all in his head---his body definitely said different. O’Reily walked into the gym to see both Morales and Kenmin there.

“Hey, toss the ball. Now---toss the fucking ball,” Morales said as Kenmin had the basketball in his hand.

“This is about the size of your head, Morales,” the Asian said before he slammed the ball back to him.

“You got style, Jia---I’ll give you that,” the Irishman approached him and said. “You know, you had me fooled thinking that you were worried about Li Chen hurting my mom. You set me and Cyril up. Only, you thought your boy would waste us, not the other way around.”

“Zou kai,” he said as he took a martial arts stance in a provoking manner.

“I got moves too, brother-man.”

An apparent fight seemed to be inevitable until the hacks came by and broke it up before anything was done. O’Reily was out of his mind with rage and had to deal with the source of it all. But, he could not be blinded by himself. The process of getting Kenmin out of the way needed some more time and thought, so he waited for the golden moment to strike. He went to a bench and started lifting weights as Kenmin was escorted out. He and Morales looked at each other for a moment.

Redding’s control over the cafeteria was the same as Pancamo’s had been---tits were flowing freely with the hacks none the wiser. O’Reily started laying out trays of food in preparation for lunch. The homeboys did their job, but the cafeteria ran its best when Adebisi and Nino Schibetta had been in charge. Those days were long gone though. They were prepared when inmates started entering and got in line. He had no interest in dealing with Redding or the homeboys unless he had to, so they generally stayed out of each other’s way.

“Hey, Shupe,” the Irishman said as the liar approached him with his tray in hand. “I see they let you out of protective custody.”

“Don’t start anything, O’Reily,” the man said defensively.

“I ain’t starting shit. I’m just wondering how much money Jia Kenmin paid you to lie about Cyril to the warden. Look at me,” O’Reily roughly said with that intensity in his eyes. “I’m going to give you one chance to switch your story to the truth.”

“I told the truth.”

“Okay. Hey, I made something special for you. Eat up,” he backed off and concocted a lie of his own to get inside the bottom feeder’s head.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I didn’t think so.”

O’Reily glared at the lying piece of shit as he dropped his tray in the garbage and sat somewhere without any food. He continued his work on the line---thinking of a way to handle him. There were no real ties between him and Shupe in the eyes of the warden so an accident could very well work. And the Irishman had just the plan---he loved it when things just fell into place. A thought occurred to him, though and it was not coming out of his head. 

All the inmates had finished passing through the line and O’Reily grabbed himself a tray of food so he could eat. He was hungry and wondered how Cyril’s trial was going. The homeboys were eating in the kitchen, but he decided to go to a table---one table in particular. Alvarez always sat by himself, since he was not a part of El Norte anymore. Nobody else was at the table in the corner with him, but Julie was on the floor next to him eating from a bowl. O’Reily rested his tray down across from the other man and took a seat.

“This seat taken?” he tried to be smart.

“Does it look taken? Do any of them look taken?” Alvarez replied and was in no mood for the game he was now forced to play.

“Must be the VIP section then,” O’Reily said and started to eat.

“Must be.”

Their eyes never held one another’s because it was too dangerous out here. No one was going to think anything of them sitting together but, if the conversation became too long, it would be suspicious. Both men knew this and that was why nothing else was said between them throughout the rest of lunchtime. Alvarez was busy playing with the dog most of the time anyway. He had barely touched the food on his tray. O’Reily felt strange being there like that, but he could not forget the reason he had come. The homeboys were starting to clean up the kitchen so he leaned over from the table and petted Julie---it was the first time he had ever touched the dog.

“Same spot after this,” the Irishman whispered as he stroked the dog’s head.

It was a brief moment before he scooped up his tray and headed back to the kitchen to finish his work. Alvarez knew better than to follow him with his eyes so he remained there as if nothing ever happened--- and to the rest of the inmates, nothing had. He picked up his tray and held Julie by her leash as they walked over to dump it. The prisoners were ushered out of the cafeteria soon after. Alvarez had Julie walk him back to Em City with his eyes closed to see if he would run into anything.

Redding ordered him on the dishes so he grabbed a pair of gloves and got to work. He had to be out of there quickly to make his appointment because Alvarez had to know what he was planning. Regardless of what was going on with them, they were still partners and still had each other’s back. O’Reily finished the dishes and rushed out of the cafeteria and over to Unit J. The door creaked open and when he entered, he found himself alone. He looked around the small space and stood against a wall to wait. A small rumbling caught his ears about fifteen minutes later.

“What kept you?” O’Reily said before the other man even had a chance to face him.

“I had to drop Julie off in my pod.”

“When is that damn mutt going to be gone? We have business to take care of,” he snapped but had not meant for it to happen.

Alvarez looked at him and said, “What the hell is wrong with you? She has nothing to do with our business.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t wait until she’s gone.”

“Fuck you! You don’t know shit. Is this what you called me here for---to argue like some bitch?” the Latino said as he tried to control his anger.

O’Reily remained silent when he realized he was taking out his frustrations on the other man for no reason at all. He had no problem with Julie and understood that Alvarez was doing what he believed was right. He had the courage in this shithole and among all these other scumfucks to stand up and do something right. It was commendable and respectable. Alvarez had so many facets to him---so many deep layers that made him who he was. A small part of O’Reily had come to be jealous of the dog. He was easily and freely able to shower her with so much attention, touch, and emotion.

“Sorry---sorry. Hey---hey, I’m sorry, okay?” he stepped closer and said.

“What do you want, O’Reily?”

“I got an update on the plans.”

“Okay, talk. I’m listening,” Alvarez said as he leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Cyril’s trial started today. He’s there now.”

“I heard. You think McClain will get something done?”

“I fucking hope so. I can’t lose my brother,” O’Reily said with a tinge of sadness at the thought.

“You’ll figure something out to keep him off death row I’m sure.”

“It might be more trouble now. That fuck Shupe---the bastard lied to the warden.”

“He didn’t tell Glynn what he told you?”

“Kenmin paid him off---paid him to lie to me. Chen was never planning to rape my mom. That cocksucker played me,” the Irishman bitterly said.

“Shit!”

“Don’t worry about Shupe---he’ll have an accident soon enough. That’s why I needed to talk to you.”

The Latino looked at him and said, “What---you want me to take him out?”

“No. I’m keeping both out hands clean as much as possible from now on.”

Alvarez felt uncomfortable and awkward being there. He had went into this knowing it was going to be a business meeting, but his own words seemed forced and distant. It felt like something was strained between them and he missed O’Reily’s touch---those lips pressed against his own. Maybe it was his brain racing in every direction with a million thoughts going every which way possible. But, forced words or not, the conversation was not making much sense to him.

“I don’t understand,” Alvarez said. “Why did you need to talk to me?”

“I’m going---going to ask Morales for his help,” he said slowly. “I think we have a common interest right now.”

“You’re going to Morales---to ask that bastard for help?”

“Hey, I know how you feel about him, but---”

“Fuck it! I don’t feel shit for the motherfucker. Do what you want, man. You don’t need my permission to ally with Morales,” Alvarez said in a neutral and almost uncaring tone. “You’ve kept yourself alive all these years in Oz, so you know what you’re doing.”

“It’s not allying, loco. We have a common goal right now,” O’Reily was confused by his reaction. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about Morales, but I’m bringing him an offer.”

“What makes you think he’ll accept?”

“He will. He hates that chink just as much as I do.”

“That’s the deal---for him to whack Kenmin?”

“A trade. He makes an accident happen to Shupe, and I take out Kenmin.”

“I thought you wanted to keep your hands clean,” the Latino said.

“I will. I just haven’t figured out all the details yet.”

Quietness filled the air and the uneasiness settled on the floor. It had never been this hard to talk to Alvarez before. Their thoughts seemed to be a million miles apart from one another’s and the entire conversation so far had felt weird or staged. O’Reily remained quiet as well when he saw that there was no response coming. He had never been this involved or caught up with any of his past partnerships. He had told Alvarez intricacies and core details of his plans and had actually wanted to tell him those things. There were no ulterior motives. It was apparent that they were both deeply invested in the partnership.

“What’s wrong with you, Alvarez?” the Irishman asked when he could no longer stand the deafening silence.

“Shit, man. I’m cool,” was the monotonous reply. “Go ahead with Morales. Just hope you can trust him.”

“I don’t trust the cocksucker as far as I can piss but, the deal will be too sweet for him to go back on.”

“If you say so,” he said and wanted to leave already.

“Hey---talk to me,” O’Reily said when he got in front and closer to Alvarez. “You think I’m making a mistake if I go to him?”

“No---no. No,” the Latino put aside himself and said. “He wants Kenmin dead. What you’re offering will be too good for him to back out on. I---I just got a lot on my mind.”

“Join the fucking club! Listen, Miguel, I know things have been weird---” he said and felt a sting tug somewhere inside his body.

“Nah---nah, its cool. Don’t worry about it. I got the answer, anyway.”

“The answer for what? What answer?”

“We’ll be partners, O’Reily. You watch my back, I watch yours. I’ll keep an eye out---in case things go south with Morales,” Alvarez said and got ready to leave because Julie was by herself in his pod for too long now.

“Hey, wait. Miguel---we got to talk about it.”

“Talk about what---you avoiding me? You had this meeting because you knew I’d see it as a betrayal if I found out you partnered with Morales from someone else,” he said in the same neutral tone, but was burning inside. “Hey, congrats, man---you read me like a fucking book. Once again, Ryan fucking O’Reily thinks of no one but his own goddamn self.”

“That’s not true. Well, not all of it. I wanted to see you, too---to tell you about Cyril. I’m not avoiding you,” he was on the defensive because everything Alvarez just said was true.

“I already heard about him. You’re not the only one who gets info around here, Irish. And, like I said, don’t worry about it. We’re still going to be partners. I got to get back to watch Julie.”

“Miguel---Miguel. Alvarez---wait! Fuck!” the Irishman fumbled out but it was already too late.

He had kept calling but the Latino had already closed the door behind him and left. The conversation had been so confusing and he wondered what the hell was going on. Something was wrong with Alvarez---maybe everything was wrong with him instead. O’Reily did not have to tell Alvarez anything about his partnership with Morales---he wanted to, though. He remained there to recollect himself before leaving the storage room behind and heading back to Em City. 

All the things Alvarez had said were right. He had been avoiding him---had avoided talking to him since that low point in the storage room. O’Reily hated himself because he had still felt the warmth and softness of Alvarez’s skin and hardness of his abs when he had touched him there---at that time when both had thought that something intimate was determined to happen. O’Reily had screwed that up and now, he was screwing up the only partnership in Oz that he wanted to protect.

The gate pulled back and he entered Em City with his game face on. He had suspected Alvarez of doing the same thing because the man knew the games of Oz---and how to play them. O’Reily was in business mode and had to worry about Shupe and Kenmin. He wanted to go to his pod but Meehan was there so he decided against it. He hung out in the quad to give himself a few minutes before he walked over to Morales’s pod and entered. The lapdog Guerra was there---the little cumstain had no fucking respect in Oz. He was Morales’s bitch just as much as that mutt was Alvarez’s bitch.

“Glen Shupe,” O’Reily got right to the point because he did not want to be in the same room with the bastard any longer than he had to be.

“What about him?” Morales looked up and asked.

“I need that cocksucker to have an accident.”

“How severe?” Guerra said.

“Not dead, just diminished. And it can’t be traced back to me,” he made that point clear.

“What do I get in return?” the El Norte leader said with a glint in his eyes.

“Jia Kenmin dies, and it can’t be traced back to you.”

“Deal.”

It was almost too easy and he had to smile as he turned away and left Morales’s pod. He quickly stepped into his pod to retrieve his earphones to watch some TV. The day was winding down and Cyril would be back from court soon. O’Reily wanted to know what happened, but he doubt even he could push his luck for more asks for today. Murphy was already getting sick of him and a few of the newer hacks just were not discreet enough. 

His eyes wanted to look up at Alvarez’s pod but his brain advised against it. He seemed like he was hurt more than he was angry when they were in the storage room earlier. A few hours had passed with him sitting in quad when Murphy had came and told him that Sister Pete requested to see him. She had to have news about Cyril’s trial so O’Reily jumped up and was on his way out of Em City. Both his mother and McClain were there when he entered the nun’s office.

“The first day of the trial did not go well,” McClain filled him in. “Judge Moore was in a foul mood, and the prosecutor, he’s tough, and smart.”

“So, you’re saying we’re going to lose?” O’Reily said.

“I just don’t want to give any false hopes.”

“During the jury selection, Cyril got very agitated, and he kept talking out loud, and the judge kept warning him to be silent,” Fitzgerald told her son.

“If Cyril keeps it up, Moore might eject him from the courtroom,” McClain said.

“Is the judge aware of his mental state?” Sister Pete asked.

“Yeah, he’s aware---he just, doesn’t care,” she said.

“I’ll talk to Cyril,” the nun said.

It was only a few minutes before lights out and O’Reily was still outside in the quad sitting at a table by himself. Word had gotten around later in the day that Shupe had gotten his arm cut off---Kenmin’s demise was going to take more planning. Morales got the job done fast and he was happy about that, but the conversation with Alvarez weighed heavily on him. It had casted some kind of shadow on the rest of the day and he was worried. A hack yelled lights out in the distance and the Irishman hurried back to his pod for the night.

“Jesus, you pray a lot,” he said to Meehan as he got ready for bed.

“Well, I need a lot from my God---strength, guidance, forgiveness,” the man said back.

“While you’re at it, ask him to bring back conjugal visits.”

“Don’t you ever pray?” the disgraced priest asked.

“No---not since grade school,” O’Reily said after he got up to his bunk and got comfortable.

“What happened? Why’d you stop?”

“A priest tried to grope me in the confessional.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Meehan said sadly. “Some priests get lost spiritually and---”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa---Father, give it a rest. I was just kidding.”

“Look, I have a meeting with Father Mukada tomorrow, and I was thinking that---”

“Lights out means shut the fuck up,” O’Reily snapped and turned his body to face the wall as he tried to get some sleep.

His head was throbbing with a massive headache and the jackass only wanted to talk. O’Reily wanted the pod back to himself---he wanted Cyril back with him. A part of his plan had been completed today---Shupe was missing a fucking limb. But, he had not been able to celebrate properly the liar’s severance package because Alvarez’s words had been torturing his insides. Their whole conversation had seemed so surreal and out of bounds. The Latino had only spoken the truth and had gotten nothing in return from him. And now, they were just going to be partners. O’Reily was not sure if that was what he wanted, though. He was unsure of it all.

 

 **Julie had walked** him all over Em City and had not even fidgeted when a fight broke out between two inmates just mere feet away from them. She kept her concentration and continued on walking. Alvarez had worked hard over the past week because he knew their time was coming to an end. He knew he could not keep Julie forever but, in some way, she had made Oz feel like home to him. And, she had managed to keep him out of trouble---for the most part. Alvarez loved her, but he knew he had to let her go soon and he wanted to make sure she was properly trained.

He did not care to think of the last conversation he had with Ryan O’Reily yesterday in the storage room. If he wanted to take his chances with Morales, then so be it. He knew what he was doing and could take care of himself. Alvarez kept walking with Julie until they got back to the pod. She immediately hopped up on the bed and rested there. He smiled and turned around to go to the gym for some rec time. He needed to pump some iron or do some sit-ups to get his mind away from giving her up as well as the Irishman.

The Latino changed his shirt to a sleeveless one and headed over to the gym. There were inmates playing basketball or just talking---passing information mostly. He secured a bench and some free weights and began to lift them. Alvarez did not care to talk to anyone---he just wanted a good workout and then to go back and take a shower and relax with Julie. The fucks could rot in here for all he cared. His instincts flared when he felt someone approaching behind him.

“You’ve been quiet lately, Miguel,” Morales said with a stupid half smile on his face.

“Been busy and shit,” Alvarez replied as he switched arms and began lifting again.

“I see. That bitch keeping you company at night?”

“What the hell do you want, chica? Don’t have time for your bullshit,” he said and never bothered to look at the other man.

“Guerra still wants you dead, you know?” Morales said to him. “I know I guaranteed no harm would come to you from El Norte, but, Chico’s determined. You know how he gets when he’s determined.”

“You can’t control your lapdog? Maybe you should take some classes with me.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Miguel.”

“It would be better if you didn’t. Then, it would be just like old times, you know?”

Alvarez said that and got up to put the weights back because he wanted to do some crunches before he left. The conversation was already over to him and Morales knew that---the latter turned away and went onto the basketball court. The Latino hit the mat and began doing sit-ups. Morales had been going out of his way the past days to talk to him. It was always about bullshit, though. He and Guerra had exchanged few words since Morales had promised that El Norte would leave him be. Maybe the fuck was trying to play a game and, if so, he was sucking at it.

Julie looked up when he entered the pod to grab a towel and supplies to hit the shower. His skin was sticky and his heart rate was still elevated. The natural high his body was on was no comparison to the mind-blowing drug-induced ones of his past, but this type was safe and natural so he took it. Alvarez rustled her hair quickly before he left and headed down to the shower. He stripped his clothes off and wrapped a towel around his waist before he went over to the sink applied shaving cream to his slightly prickly face and neck.

“Careful you don’t cut yourself there, Miguelito,” Guerra entered the showered shortly after and said. “Don’t want you to have an accident.”

“You want that, huh---my blood on my own hands? Suicide’s no fun,” Alvarez replied as he looked at the reflection of the man from the mirror in front of him. “You planning to come at me?”

“I got my options open.”

“Me too, motherfucker. Me too. You won’t come at me right now though.”

“Why the fuck you say that?” the lapdog inched closer.

“You’re here by yourself, aren’t you? Those other wannabe El Norte members aren’t behind you---backing you up. You’d never make a move on me by yourself---scared ass piece of shit.”

“Motherfucking--”

“Guerra, you starting up trouble here again?” Murphy said when he entered the showers. “Come on---let’s go.”

“Hah---it’s cool, Officer Murphy. Chico here was just telling me how much they miss me in El Norte,” Alvarez smiled and said.

“Touching---I’m sure,” the officer said. “Get on, Guerra.”

“Later, Miguel,” Guerra said with hatred sewn into his voice.

He contoured his face with the razor until it was smooth enough to his liking and stripped the towel away to take a shower. The nozzle sprayed cool water on him and he gargled some in his mouth before he spat it out onto the floor. The bar of soap worked itself in his hand to create a creamy lather and then it went all over his body in an attempt to get him clean. Alvarez’s hands touched his lower abs and his brain remembered how O’Reily had touched him there. It was not the time to be thinking such thoughts because the Irishman got him both aroused and angry at the same time.

The Latino roamed the bar of soap in his hand to every part of his body until he felt he was clean enough to change. His fresh clothes were on top of the tiled half-wall that was supposed to grant the showering area of the room some sort of privacy. There was no such thing as privacy in Oz. Alvarez dried his skin and ran the towel over his short hair to get it to stop dripping water. He thoroughly dried his skin and put his clothes on before he picked up and left the shower. Guerra was an idiot he was going to spend no more of his time thinking about.

Back in the pod, Julie had moved from the bed to her favorite corner and was lapping up water when he came in. She did not know the hell of a place she was in---that was good for her. Alvarez put his things away and sat on the floor to play with her. She had forced him to come such a long way from where he was. She was one of the only positive influences in his live. The Latino knew it was going to be had to give her up, but it was the best thing for them both. He did not need her for the capacity she had been trained for.

Later, he was downstairs in the quad watching TV mainly by himself. Rebadow and Busmalis were there, but he was in no mood to speak to anyone. O’Reily was probably off trying to woo Dr. Nathan or scheming some plan to get rid of Kenmin. Morales had worked quickly to disable Shupe---he had to have really hated the Asian. Alvarez wanted no part in the deal with Morales. O’Reily had assured him that it was a one-time plan and he had to believe that. A newscaster interrupted the local programming.

“Our Lady of Fatima church and its rectory next door burned to the ground this evening, killing two priests,” the anchor said and Alvarez immediately took notice of it. “The two priests, Father Jack Downing and Father Jack Hurlbert, were trapped on an upper floor of the rectory. Also injured was Father Raymond Mukada---”

“Holy shit!” he said when he heard the man’s name.

“Who suffered from smoke inhalation and is in serious condition at Benchley Memorial,” the newscaster went on. “Arson is the suspected cause.”

Alvarez sprung up and asked to see Sister Pete from one of the hacks. Murphy gave a nod and they were out and heading to the nun’s office. His insides twisted a bit because the priest had been hurt. The man who still believed there was some good inside him had been hurt and he wanted to find out everything he could. They were the closest thing to friends he had in this place. Alvarez had to know he was all right. He hurried over to the nun’s office and entered without even bothering to knock first.

“Miguel---what’s going on?” Sister Peter Marie looked flustered when he barged in.

“Sister---something’s happened to Father Mukada. I need to talk,” he said with desperation in his voice.

“Okay---okay. Sit here,” she said as she ushered the officer out and closed the door. “What is this about? What happened to Father Mukada?”

“There---there was a fire. And, he’s in the hospital.”

“What are you talking about, Miguel? There was a fire?”

“Someone burned down his church---I just saw it on TV. You got to tell me if he’s all right.”

“Miguel, I had no idea this happened,” she said as she got up and went over to the phone. “I’d like to speak to Leo please---tell him it’s urgent.”

“Sister---” he started to say.

“One second,” the nun raised her finger to him. “Leo---did you hear about Our Lady of Fatima burning down? Oh, really? He’s at Benchley? Okay, I can find out. I’m on my way out now.”

“What did Glynn say?” Alvarez asked.

“It’s true. He’s in Benchley Memorial, but he doesn’t know much else. I have to go find out what happened---see if he’s all right. The police suspect arson,” Sister Pete said as she grabbed her coat.

“Yeah---they said that in the news.”

“I’ll let you know anything as soon as I find out. Don’t worry, Miguel---he’ll be fine,” she said as she opened the door. “Officer, can you take him back.”

“Let’s go,” the hack called out.

“Please---tell him to get better, Sister,” the Latino said and was worried.

“I will when I see him.”

They went their separate ways and Alvarez felt a little better now that he had spoken to the nun. He was still worried about Father Mukada, though. The officer left him inside Em City and he immediately felt O’Reily’s eyes on him from one of the tables in the quad. He did not bother to look back, though, and instead headed up to his pod. Julie greeted him and he went over to play with her. Maybe it was going to get his mind off the fire. Alvarez did not bother to look downstairs, but he knew a pair of eyes looked up in his direction from time to time. He did not want to deal with that right now.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **The wait was killing him** as he sat in the quad by himself and thought. It was almost time for him to go to the cafeteria to prepare lunch and word still had not come in on Cyril’s trial. The day could potentially change their lives. O’Reily sat at the table and remained to himself as other inmates passed by and went on as if it was a regular day. To them, it was. Katherine McClain had told him not to get any false hopes, but a little part of him believed that his brother was going to get off. Meehan walked over to the table and sat down across from him.

“What news?” the disgraced priest asked.

“Nothing. The lawyer says it could be a couple of days before the jury comes back with a verdict,” the Irishman said. “I just, you know---I just wish I was with Cyril in Solitary, because I know he’s scared and I don’t think he’s got a clue as to what’s going on.”

“Good.”

“What’s good?”

“Well, the less aware he is of things, the better chance we have of overturning a guilty verdict,” Meehan said.

“I don’t follow. What?” O’Reily was confused.

“I’m not going to let Cyril die---not without one hell of a fight.”

“What do you care about my brother for, huh? What fucking business of it is yours?” he got defensive and said.

“Just because I’m a prisoner doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being a priest. Cyril is one of God’s kids, there it’s---”

“Hey, Meehan, yo---yo, you know what? Stay the fuck away from me, all right. The last thing I need right now is hope, so just fucking beat it,” O’Reily angrily said. “Get the fuck out of here! What, are you deaf?”

The bastard was getting on his nerves and he wanted them as far away from each other as possible. Meehan looked at him for a moment before he got up and walked away. He did not need the man stroking to life that little hope he had inside. It was only going to be that much more devastating if Cyril was convicted. O’Reily’s eyes glanced to an empty pod on the second floor---neither Alvarez nor the dog was there. A part of him felt that the partnership was not going to work out. And, a part of him wanted it to work out more than he was willing to admit.

Redding and the homeboys started heading to the kitchen so he quickly changed into his uniform and followed them. There was still no word as he prepared lunch and the inmates began arriving shortly after that. O’Reily wanted to turn around and see Cyril playing with the bubbles as he washed the dishes like before, but that was gone. He and Alvarez held each other’s gaze for a short time in the line but it was over too quickly. The Latino went on his way with his dog without any word ever being spoken. Nothing had been said, but O’Reily felt it.

“O’Reily, come with me,” Howell called to him from the gate.

“Where?”

“Jury’s in.”

“Oh---take that,” he handed off his spoon to another inmate and ran out of the kitchen.

Redding was not happy with this but he did not give a damn. Something important was going to happen today and he had to make decisions for either outcome. Howell walked him over to interaction room and he stayed inside his head the whole way. The stupid cunt was babbling something but he paid no attention to her because there was no plan he could come up with that would save Cyril from the death penalty. If that was the case, there was no plan that could bring him back from the dead.

“Ryan,” Sister Pete said when he entered and her tone spoke volumes.

“Oh, Christ,” was all he could think to say.

“I’m sorry,” McClain said. “We’re going to appeal.”

“A lot of fucking good that’ll do. Hey---you okay?” O’Reily asked to his brother.

“Sure. Kiss Jericho. Kiss him!” Cyril said of the puppet that the nun had given him to keep him quiet during the trial. “He misses you.”

“When’s sentencing?” he ignored his brother and asked.

“It’s Thursday. I’ll plead for clemency because of his mental state,” McClain spoke.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?” Sister Pete asked. “The judge---”

“I’m responsible for his decisions, right?” O’Reily made it clear to the both of them. “I say no appeals. No clemency. Now, leave us alone.”

He watched the two of them leave and Cyril asked, “Is there a problem, Ryan?”

“No---just the opposite. You’re getting out of here, kid,” the Irishman sadly said. “You’re going to be free.”

They had spent an hour in the interaction room talking and O’Reily had to hold back his pain a few times. It was the end of a fucked up and unfair road for his little brother. Cyril deserved better than being brain-damaged--- deserved better than being locked away in here. The hack came to take him back to Solitary and he had to bribe another to take him to the cafeteria to talk to his mother. O’Reily tried his best to explain himself as they sat on the stage together, but she did not seem to understand where he was coming from.

“Why would you want your brother to die?” Fitzgerald asked.

“Look at our lives. We were beaten as kids, ignored, in and out of juvie all the time. Then, Cyril gets his brains smashed in. And, we’re stuck in this shithole for the next ninety years,” O’Reily said. “Nothingness is better than a lifetime in Oz.”

“Once he’s gone---he’s gone forever and you will have to live everyday with the part you played in that.”

“Believe me---I’ve accepted everything I’ve done to screw up Cyril’s life. I can carry this.”

“No. No, you won’t be able to,” she said and rested her hand on his.

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because I know you, Ryan.”

“What? You think you know me because we sit around and joke---you got me all figured out?” O’Reily said as anger swelled inside him. “Is that it, huh? Well, let me tell you something, ma---even if you’d been in that house my whole life, you wouldn’t have a fucking clue who I am.”

“Ryan,” his mother was startled and called after him as he jumped off the stage.

“Let me out of here,” he said to the hack at the gate.

“Ryan?” Fitzgerald called out to him again but he was gone.

He had gotten far too defensive with his mother, but she was trying to give him false hope just as the priest was. O’Reily could not afford to build himself up like that. He walked back to Em City and entered the pod---he warned Meehan not to say a word to him. O’Reily remained by himself for a long while until he emerged from the pod and immediately felt Morales’s eyes on him. The El Norte leader motioned him over and he went and sat. Just then, the gates clanked open.

“Hey, everybody, check it out, Shupe’s back. Let’s give him a hand,” the Irishman mocked the pitiful liar.

“You’re a regular Chris Rock there, O’Reily,” Shupe said back.

“What can I say? It’s a talent.”

“Speaking of talents, you made a deal with us---we’d hurt Shupe if you’d airhole Jia Kenmin,” Guerra reminded him of their arrangement.

“Well, I never said I’d do the deed myself. I’m going to find someone to do it who the COs can’t blame.”

“Who?”

He smiled and responded, “The COs themselves.”

Guerra looked confused by his statement and O’Reily expected nothing less from the stupid fuck. He understood why Alvarez never took Guerra seriously---he was hardly a worthy threat. He left the lapdog behind after the buzzer sounded signifying that it was rec time. He took every precaution with the plan and the hit was going to happen today. Most of the inmates headed to the gym and he went too. It was past time Kenmin paid for what Cyril was going through. O’Reily entered the gym with his plan already set in motion.

“I hear justice has been served,” Kenmin said to him when they were close enough to each other. “Your brother’s going to die for whacking Li Chen. My only wish---is that you’d been in court the day I testified. Li Chen---he was a good man who wouldn’t hurt a flea. I even choked back a fucking tear. I was brilliant.”

“Hey, wonton,” he said.

O’Reily clenched his fist and swung at the Asian to get him to shut up. He wanted to get a good punch in, but it would not matter in the end if he did or did not connect. Kenmin dodged the blow and quickly wrapped his hands around O’Reily’s neck to choke him. He was on the floor and losing breath in his lungs when he saw a hack come from behind and hit Kenmin to break up the fight.

“Get off him! Get off him, now!” Officer Robinson ordered.

“Fucking cocksucker!” the Asian said and released O’Reily’s throat to start assaulting the hack.

“Son of a bitch!” Robinson said as he began to defend himself.

Kenmin kept punching the hack in his face and chest to subdue him so that he could finish the other man off. O’Reily quickly caught his breath, leapt up from the floor to punch Kenmin in the back of the head, and started pulling him off the officer. More officers joined in when they heard the other prisoners’ cheering and the fight was dismantled. Kenmin was still trying to fight off the officers and even spat in one of their faces---he was clubbed hard in the stomach for it.

Everything had gone the way it was supposed to go, but his neck was killing him. The hacks pulled Kenmin away while Robinson escorted O’Reily to the infirmary because there was bruising around his neck. His windpipe felt like it had been crushed and was on fire when Dr. Nathan was examining him. The marks around his neck were red and his blood was still boiling from adrenaline. The Irishman pushed more into Dr. Nathan’s gloved touch---a protected touch was still better than no touch.

But, he had touch for a short time and his brain had forced him to give it up. He had kisses that literally stole his breath away and made him weak in the knees---he was never going to tell Alvarez any of that, but wanted nothing more to do with it because of who had made feel like that. O’Reily stayed quietly in his thoughts as she examined him. He wanted to tell Alvarez about the fight---he wanted them to talk again. He missed the loco Latino.

“You’re going to be fine,” Dr. Nathan said as she removed a glove. “How you feeling?”

“Sore,” O’Reily responded with a rasp in his voice. “How’s Jia?”

“I didn’t even get to see him. The COs threw him directly into Solitary.”

“It’s not nice to hit the hacks.”

“Well, given his previous concussion, I’m a little worried,” she said.

“Don’t be. It’ll be better for all of us if Jia goes back into another coma,” the Irishman said with his voice in check.

“I’ll get someone to take you back.”

“I’ll take him,” Robinson said and they left the infirmary a few minutes later. “Appreciate what you did today, O’Reily.”

“If you guys hadn’t gotten there when you did, that chink would have snapped my fucking neck,” the viper played the manipulation game he was so fucking good at. “I was just returning the favor. Yeah, Jia, man, he’s got some set of balls. He’s always talking about what pussies you hacks are.”

“Yeah?” the officer took interest in the comment. “Well, he’s got a lesson coming. He’ll learn.”

O’Reily smiled on the inside at another successfully executed plan. It was too damn easy---and at the small cost of being roughed up a bit. Jia Kenmin was either going to be in a coma or dead by the end of the day. The hacks hated taking any shit from the prisoners and got even whenever they could. O’Reily returned to Em City and was immediately greeted by Meehan as he walked to his pod. The bastard had a look of determination on his face. It was just what he needed---a fucking lecture.

“You happy with what you did?” he asked.

“What’d I do?” O’Reily felt a massive headache coming on.

“Got your revenge on Jia Kenmin.”

“That motherfucker came at me.”

“I saw otherwise,” he said.

“Hey, keep your fucking mouth shut!” O’Reily warned him.

“You wear that cross of gold,” Meehan said of the cross around his neck. “Why? Do you believe in the risen Christ, or is it just a bobble? What happened to you when you were a child? What made you walk away from the church?”

“I didn’t walk away. I ran.”

“Why?” he probed.

“When I was a kid and all this shit was going down in our house, my dad was wailing on us nonstop, so I went to our pastor. I had a welt on my back the size of a fist, so, I asked the good Monsignor if he could please talk to my dad and ask him to stop beating on us,” he was not sure why he was saying all this. “He said if my dad hit us, it was because we were bad and we deserved to be punished. Then, he told me to go home and honor thy father.”

“There are bad priests, but, there are lots of good ones, too. Your priest wasn’t there for you, but I am. I’m here for you, and I’m here for your brother.”

“No---it’s too late, Father. It’s too fucking late,” O’Reily said dismissively and walked into the pod.

His head had wanted to explode and his neck felt raw and exposed. He just wanted a nap and for the day to be over. Meehan remained outside, but then walked away to give him some privacy. O’Reily did not want to talk anymore and went up to his bunk to rest. The natural high his body was on had long since vanished and he felt uncomfortable telling Meehan what he just did. Information was power inside Oz and he never wanted anyone to have any kind of power over him. O’Reily turned his body towards the wall and tried to get some rest. Maybe when he woke up, everything would have been a nightmare.

 

 **Word had gotten** around quickly about the brawl in the gym between O’Reily, Kenmin, and the hacks and Alvarez knew this was part of the man’s plan. There was very little doubt in his mind that the Asian was on his last breaths of life now, if he hadn’t already taken them. He saw O’Reily talking to Meehan outside their pod earlier but their eyes never made contact. Alvarez wanted to talk to him but everything between them was so complicated and mainly unspoken. It was dangerous to open up in Oz.

He was sitting in his pod playing with Julie while Penders was sitting on the floor playing with his dog as well. He felt a sigh of relief when Sister Peter Marie had told him that Father Mukada was going to be fine after she had come back from her hospital visit. The time was coming close for both of them to give up the dogs and Alvarez was depressed about that. Julie had taught him so much about himself. After all the criminal acts and blood that was on his hands, he was capable of taking care and nurturing something to make it grow and prosper. He was capable of love---he was still human.

“I don’t know how I’m going to give Julie up, huh?” the Latino said sadly as he played with her. “I had a kid once---died. It fucking nearly crippled me. I ain’t felt love since then---until now.”

“You know that CO that you blinded?” Penders said.

“Eugene Rivera?”

“Yeah. Is he going to get your dog?”

“Well---he said he don’t want any part of anything that had to do with me,” Alvarez said, but he knew Sister Pete was still fighting on his behalf.

“You ever seen these babies fight for sport?”

“I’ve seen roosters. I haven’t seen dogs, though.”

“It’s fucking brutal, man. Three rounds of absolute mayhem. Dogs just ripping each other apart,” he painted the ugly picture.

“Jesus Christ---fucking stop!”

“I’m sorry.”

Alvarez did not want to imagine Julie in that kind of situation---it was too much. She was a good girl and was gentle and loving. These were more reasons why he wanted Rivera to have her. He had taken a big chunk away from the man’s life so Julie’s love and support would have at least made it a somewhat easier journey for him as he walked through his life as a blind man. Penders reminded them that they had their final session with Hinden in a few minutes so they got ready to go. Alvarez wanted to feel that sense of accomplishment in something as they left his pod and walked down the stairs and across the quad.

“Hey, Penders, Alvarez, what’s this?” Officer Lopresti asked them both as he pointed to the ground under him.

“Beats me.” Penders replied.

“It’s dog shit, dickhead.”

“How can you be sure that a dog did that?”

“Who else shits on the floor?”

“Guerra,” Penders said.

“That’s funny,” the hack said. “Clean it up.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeated.

“Clean the fucking shit up,” he said as he approached him.

“Lopresti, why you always on my fucking ass?” Penders said with an attitude.

“Because I’m tired of you and your fucking pooch.”

“At least Chester doesn’t have bad breath.”

The hack hit him in the chest at the insult and pushed him down to do the ground. Alvarez stood back with Julie and watched on along with the rest of Em City. Lopresti got down to the ground and shoved Penders’s face in the shit that was there. Inmates crowded around the scene and laughed as the hack continued to do the dirty act. His face was grinding and rubbing against the smeared shit that was all over the floor now.

“Chester, now, Chester!” Penders commanded his dog when he was able to get his face off the floor enough.

The dog swept into action to defend its master. Penders had his face back down on the floor as Chester rushed up and attacked the hack. He was ruthless and cunning as he went for Lopresti’s throat and bit him there. Penders sat up on the floor and laughed as his dog tried to maul and ravage the other man. Alvarez look on with horror and severe disappointment as the buzzer sounded and more hacks came to control the situation. Chester had a vice grip on Lopresti’s throat.

“Damn!” Alvarez said amidst the madness.

One hack restrained Penders while three others struggled to get control of the dog and pry him off Lopresti. The man was bleeding from his neck when they were finally able to remove Chester and pull him away. The crowd booed at this and the Latino watched as Penders was dragged out of Em City and taken away. The hacks took the dog away as well while others helped Lopresti to the medical ward.

Alvarez was in shock and disbelief at what had just happened. He was walking to his final session and was angry that Penders pulled something so selfish and stupid. Doubt could be casted on all the work and progress he made with Julie. He had never taught her to attack or fetch like a regular pet---they were not training them for that purpose. Alvarez wanted to punch the stupid fuck for the dangerous stunt he just pulled.

He walked into the cafeteria and saw a hack talking to Hinden while Chester was on the floor beside her. A full obstacle course was set up over the floor and stage of the cafeteria and he examined what his final test was going to be. The hack walked away and Hinden gave him a blindfold to cover his eyes to begin the training exercise. It was all up to Julie now as darkness covered his eyes. Alvarez held on to her leash tightly and he was a little nervous as they began walking the course. Julie was his eyes for the time being.

“It’s a shame what Penders did---teaching Chester to attack. He put a shadow over the whole program,” she honestly said.

“He really loved that dog,” Alvarez said as Julie continued to guide him through the course. “He just fucking hates people.”

“Let her take you up the stairs.”

“What else?” he said after they had accomplished that.

“Have her sit.”

“Julie, sit,” Alvarez gently commanded and she did so. “Good girl. And?”

“Now, take off your blindfold.”

“I pass?” he asked as he looked down at her from the stage.

“Yes---A+, gold star. Great job.”

“Thanks. She did all the work, you know?”

“And she’ll continue to do so, thanks to you,” Hinden said and was extremely delighted with both their progress.

“You know what I wish? I wish I could just see whoever’s going to get her, you know?”

“Well, Miguel---you’re going to get your wish because that person is going to be here in just a second.”

“Who’s that?”

“McManus has been working the phones all morning, and---”

“Oh, shit. I thought he didn’t want her,” Alvarez said as he saw Eugene Rivera come in with the help of McManus.

“Tina didn’t,” Rivera said when they were close enough. “Well---neither did I, at first. Look, I love my wife and everything she’s done for me, but she deserves her life back. I mean, I know this dog would be great for me, but, I think, over time, it would be great for her, too.”

“That’s good,” he said with a hint of happiness in his voice. “Cool. This is Julie---and I trained her special for you.”

“Special?” Hinden asked.

“What do you normally speak at home?”

“Spanish,” Rivera said, slightly confused.

“Now, make believe you’re at home right now and ask for her.”

“Julie---ven acá,” Rivera commanded the dog in Spanish and she easily walked over to her new master.

“You taught the dog Spanish?” McManus said and was impressed.

“Yeah---yeah. Every command---she’s fucking bilingual. Tell her to sit down,” Alvarez said.

“Julie---siéntate,” he said and the dog did so.

“She’s all yours,” Alvarez said sadly, but this was what he wanted. “Te voy a echar de manos.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” McManus told Rivera. “Let’s go.”

He watched as Julie left him for where she needed to be now. Hinden patted him on the shoulder to congratulate him and she smiled a small smile as they left. Alvarez had done all he could with Julie and he felt as if he had atoned for one of his many past mistakes. He was happy because Julie was going to get a proper home how---she had never deserved to be in this prison. She was always too good for this place.

Alvarez returned to Em City with Hinden and a hack to retrieve the rest of Julie’s things from his pod. He walked into the pod first and there was a slip of paper slightly poking out from under his blanket. He quickly grabbed it and stored it away in his pocket before Hinden came in and picked up the rest of the dog’s things. The Latino missed her already, but the right thing was done. The two of them smiled at each other and the hack escorted her out.

The pod was empty again as he looked around and he was alone again. He could not reach into his pocket because he knew eyes were still on him so he just relaxed. Alvarez was more than curious as to what the note said, but kept his focus until he was sure it was safe. O’Reily was not in his pod, but Meehan was---he was reading the bible. Alvarez looked back and reached his hand into his pocket to pick up the small piece of paper.

**Solitary.**

He knew he was going to have to bribe the guard, but he wanted to hear what O’Reily had to say. Alvarez left his pod and went down to the quad to tell the hack he wanted to see Sister Pete. The gate pulled back and he walked away and towards his true destination. It was a long walk down to Solitary and he saw less and less people as he traveled. O’Reily surely knew the schedules well---even better than the guards and staff that followed them. The Latino approached the door and quickly scanned the area before he disappeared inside.

“Hey, Alvarez,” said a voice from behind him. “How you doing?”

“Just gave Julie up about an hour ago, so you don’t have to worry anymore,” he said once the door was locked. “She left today---she’s gone.”

“You know who got her?”

“Rivera,” Alvarez said and their eyes met for the first time. “Shit---I felt like I lost my fucking kid all over again, you know?”

“Damn. I’m sorry, loco,” O’Reily said with a hint of sorrow and truth in his voice. “I know what she meant to you.”

“She’s where she’s needed now, you know? I can take comfort in that shit.”

“You did a good thing. I know I gave you a hard time about it out there and shit---in here, too. But it took balls to do what you did. To try and correct a past mistake.”

“I guess, man. What’s up? You got news?”

Alvarez knew he had to mourn the loss of Julie, but he had to get back to business because if he kept his head out of the game for too long, he could end up dead. Things between him and the Irishman were still strained, but their initial agreement of watching each other’s back was still intact for the most part. He walked away from the locked door and a little closer to where O’Reily was standing on the opposite side. His hair was slightly messy and his signature green shirt bearing his last name on the back was wrinkled.

“The deal with Morales went down,” O’Reily said. “He did his part and I did mine.”

“Kenmin is dead?”

“I imagine he must be by now. He won’t be bothering me or Cyril anymore.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t whack him?” Alvarez asked.

“No. His murder will go unsolved. Robinson and the other hacks will make sure of that.”

“You’re one crafty bastard, Irish,” he said when he realized the words. “That’s some kind of retaliation.”

“Yeah. Now I don’t have to deal with Morales or that stupid fuck Guerra anymore. How that idiot managed to stay alive in here for this long---I don’t know,” O’Reily said.

“He was actually pretty street-smart on the outside. He just fucking sniffs Morales’s ass now and ignores his own instincts.”

“Man---I’m glad you’re not like that.”

“I used to be,” he said as he remembered Eugene Rivera and holding the man’s eyes in his bloody hands.

“But you wised up, loco. That’s what made me think we could be partners. You learn from your mistakes, unlike most of the scumfucks in here.”

“What’s the next move?”

O’Reily had not thought of any new moves to make yet since everything at the moment was either set or already in motion. Unless something abruptly came up, he did not have to make any plans for the next few days. Meehan’s talking to him had brought up an issue inside himself that he had to discuss with Alvarez, though. It was clearly important to both of them that their partnership was based on trust and O’Reily had to put it out there.

In a weird way, the Latino training Julie for Rivera to correct a past crime had inspired him. He had stayed awake at night and wondered if he should tell Alvarez what he knew---what he had done. But the right answer had always eluded him. O’Reily partly blamed Meehan for partially getting inside his head, but he wanted to be honest with Alvarez. There were no games or mind-fucking involved here and he was nervous. He did not know how to start.

“Hey, O’Reily?” Alvarez said and waved his hand close to his face. “You all right there?”

“You don’t call me viper anymore.”

“What the hell? Where’d that come from?”

“Don’t know---just noticed it,” the Irishman said and was faintly embarrassed. “I haven’t planned any moves yet. You’ll know when I do.”

“Okay. Is that it, then?”

“Miguel---”

“What? What do you want to say?” he was getting annoyed because he had read O’Reily’s body language and the man had been fighting to say something since the conversation had started. “I’m not that patient and you’ve already made it clear that I’ll never be able to read your mind. So---just tell me.”

“I don’t---I don’t know.”

“It’s cool. You wanted to be partners and have all that other shit dropped---it’s dropped.”

“I haven’t been honest,” O’Reily struggled to find the right words, but those had just blurted out.

Alvarez looked at him and felt his pulse quicken as he said, “Talk right now, O’Reily. And not in goddamn riddles, or I’ll fucking kill you.”

He got angry at the threat but kept his voice calm and said, “You didn’t really lose that boxing match.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The boxing match between you and Cramer---I fixed it so you would lose.”

“How?” Alvarez knew he was on the edge. “How’d you do it?”

“I spiked your water bottle with drugs that were stolen from the hospital. I’m sorry, Miguel. I wanted to tell you because I want the partnership to survive---I had to be honest. You didn’t do shit---I just wanted Cyril to win. I wanted him to win to show everyone how tough he was. Maybe then they’d stop messing with him.”

Words were coming through but he did not want to listen to them. He had become a fucking laughing stock of the prison after he lost to a fag. That cocksucker Hernandez had never let him forget that he was beaten in the ring by a fag. El Norte teased and baited him mercilessly about it. Alvarez wanted to remain rational, but he never expected this---it blindsided him when the betrayal sank in. He had known something was wrong after the first round of that match, but had blamed himself for being too tired or not concentrating enough. The Latino had beaten himself up so much over that loss.

The green motherfucker in front of him had been the cause of everything, though. He had never gotten a chance to show his moves in the ring. O’Reily had played him from all the way back then. Rage was clouding his mind because he had blamed himself for that shameful loss---just as everyone else had. Alvarez could not move and the dark fear sunk into his mind that he could actually kill this man right now. No one would hear him scream and no one would ever know what happened because the two of them never associated with one another in public. The perfect crime.

“Did you do this to everyone?” the Latino choked out because he had to know.

“All except Khan in the finals,” O’Reily replied and felt a chill when the other man’s dark eyes brushed over his.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit! I knew I should’ve followed my instincts and stayed the hell away from you!” Alvarez started to unload his pent up wrath. “It should be you in that goddamn electric chair---not Cyril! He’s just another one on the long list of people you fucked over just to amuse yourself! You fucking bit me---even before I knew shit! Fuck!”

Alvarez squeezed his fist into a ball so tightly; he thought his nails had dug into his flesh. He swung hard---his clamped knuckles cracked into O’Reily’s jaw, and the other man fell onto the storage room floor with an intense pain. He had cried out and was holding his jaw as the inside of his mouth was busted open and blood leaked out past his lips. Alvarez took deep breaths as he stood there and his fiery eyes burned holes into the man on the floor in front of him. He wanted to kick him and fucking strangle the life out of him, but held back. He had to get out of there and stepped past O’Reily to make his way to the door.

“Wait! Alvarez, wait! Miguel!” O’Reily yelled after him as he got up from the floor and grabbed a paper towel to spit blood into. “Fuck---my jaw!”

“Fuck you!” Alvarez reached for the door but felt a hand grab onto his arm.

“I’m sorry, Miguel. I was never worried about the dog. I was---I was jealous, though, you know?” he realized that he was making no sense but he was telling the truth. “You were right---I was jealous of the fucking dog!”

“Let go of me---let me go before I fucking kill you right here, O’Reily,” the loco Latino said in a tone so severe that it scared them both. “Fuck this partnership! Fuck you!”

He violently jerked his arm away from the grasp and walked out the door with that same intense look in his eyes. O’Reily grabbed another piece of paper to spit because the blood seemed like it didn’t want to stop. His jaw was swollen, and probably red, when his fingers gently grazed over where he had been hit. He had another headache and was upset by Alvarez’s final words to him. There was no more partnership. All their work and progress together had evaporated into nothing. O’Reily sat against the wall and waited for his mouth to stop bleeding before he could leave.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**More than a week had** passed and Alvarez was still in a bad mood because of the Irishman and his confession. He had regretted the punch, though---his mind had been clouded by anger. He was alone again now---the partnership fell apart. But, O’Reily had been honest with him ever since they had become partners. Him being the victim of the fixed boxing match was not a part of some agenda O’Reily had against him. It had all been to boost Cyril’s confidence. Alvarez was still mad as hell about it, but a part of him wondered if he had made a mistake by calling off the partnership.

Both McManus and Hinden had fought on his behalf to get him a parole hearing because of the great job he had done with Julie. Alvarez felt that it was a step in the right direction for his life and there was a chance he was going to get far away from Oz. It was a small chance that he could start his life over and try to find some happiness in the world. McManus had come into the laundry room to tell him that the hearing was tomorrow. It felt surreal.

“Thanks for setting up the parole hearing, McManus,” he said.

“Well, to tell you the truth, Miguel, these parole board hearings---your chances for release are a long shot,” the unit manager said.

“No, no, no, no. I got a good feeling. I got a good feeling,” the Latino said positively. “I got my A game on. God---it’d be great just to get away from Oz, you know. I could see Maritza. She’s been let out of Parker women’s. She got a job. You know, she got her life on course. Shit, maybe I can have another baby, you know. I just got to let the parole board people understand that I can do that too, you know? That I know in my heart that I’m ready.”

McManus nodded and patted him on the shoulder before he left. Alvarez did not want to get his hopes up for leaving this place, but hearing himself talk about Maritza and the possibility of another baby took his mind into places he thought had been forever lost to him. It was dangerous to be this excited because it was a long fall back to Oz if his hopes were crushed now. He was alone in the laundry room and taking clothes out of the dryer to fold when he heard the door open behind him.

“Hey there, Alvarez,” O’Reily said after he made sure the glass door had snapped back shut behind him.

“Stay away from me. We don’t got nothing to say to each other,” Alvarez did not bother to turn around because he already knew that lying voice.

“I said I’m sorry, loco. How long are you going to keep avoiding me?” the Irishman moved to the other side of the room for them to be face to face but it was still no use. “Why haven’t you shown up to any of the meetings I left you notes for? I was waiting for you each time, so we could talk---alone.”

“Told you---we got nothing to say to each other. Go fuck up someone else’s life with your manipulations and mind-fucking.”

“You think I manipulated you? You’re the only person in here I’ve ever been this straight---this honest with, Alvarez. It was a fucking mistake I made a long time ago and long before we ever became partners. And, I told you about it now because I knew you were honest with me since the partnership started and I wanted to be honest with you. I’m sorry, okay. I won’t say it again.” 

O’Reily was careful not to raise his voice or cause a scene because he knew people might have been watching on the outside. He had to say these things in such a public place though because Alvarez was not coming to any of the meetings. Five meetings had been set up in the past week alone and the Latino had stood him up for every single one of them. O’Reily did not want the partnership to be over because he had spoken the truth---Alvarez was the only person inside Oz, aside from his brother Cyril, that he had ever been that honest with. None of the other fucks in there had any chance of even coming close.

“Go!” was the short reply.

“Fuck you!” he said and left.

His eyes followed the other man as he walked out of the laundry room and towards his pod. Alvarez was confused---the víbora had bitten him in the past but the wound stung as if it had been freshly done. Alvarez could not concentrate on that right now because he was pumped for his interview in the morning. He finished folding the rest of his clothes and walked back to his cell to put everything away. His new cellmate, Samuel Gougeon, was busy writing a letter and did not bother to look up once the pod door was opened. Gougeon had become his podmate the day after he had given Julie to Rivera.

Night fell on Em City and they were all waiting to be locked in their pods for the night. Alvarez and Gougeon were already in their pod, with the former brushing his teeth. Butterflies were in his stomach and hope was in his heart for the first time in a very long time. Training Julie and helping Eugene Rivera had given him hope and had boosted him to this point. Gougeon already wanted to go to bed as Alvarez stood in the mirror and practiced what he was going to say to the parole board tomorrow.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you guys, you know?” he was saying mainly to himself. “Yeah, my dad and my grandfather were both incarcerated in here. Excuse me?”

“Alvarez, what are you doing?” his podmate looked at him from his bed and said.

“I’m just practicing my answers for the parole board hearing.”

“Count!” they both heard a hack say.

Everyone was outside and standing in front of their respective pods to be counted. The numbers went off as Alvarez wandered his eyes down and across the quad to O’Reily. He and Meehan were talking, but the Irishman knew eyes were on him because he gave a quick glance up before he returned to his conversation. He wanted to go to the meetings but was unsure of what would have happened if they were alone together. Alvarez did not want to cause more harm to O’Reily than he already had when he had made him bleed. Count finished and they were all sealed away for the night.

Alvarez was in his pod fixing his tie as he got ready for the hearing. He had on a suit and looked sharp in it as he fidgeted with the stupid piece of fabric around his neck to make it appear straight. The nerves had intensified in his stomach overnight and created a giant cluster there. The Latino finally gave up on the tie and left it the way it was as he saw a hack coming to take him to the appointment. He was anxious as he left his pod behind and walked down to the quad.

“Hey, Charlie Brown,” O’Reily teased with that devilish sense of humor of his.

“Maritza---Maritza. Maritza, mi amor, pronto enstare en sus brazos,” Guerra laughed as he hugged and kissed the air in front of him.

“Fuck you,” Alvarez ignored them both.

“Oh, careful, Miguel. You wouldn’t want a smudge on that record this late in your parole,” Guerra continued.

“Shut the fuck up,” the guard told them both.

“You know what would be a terrible tragedy? Just before you got out, if Maritza---has some kind of accident.”

“You hurt her---you’re dead. You fuck with my parole---you’re dead,” Alvarez angrily said.

“Oh---you’re so fucking beautiful when you’re angry.”

The hack pulled him away and out of Em City towards the interview room where they were already waiting for him. Alvarez entered and sat on the one seat across from the three interviewers. _Be cool. Stay calm._ It began right away and he spoke about his progress in Oz. He spoke about how far he had come and how parole was his second chance at life. Alvarez was nervous as all their eyes were on him, but he remained focused and finished saying what he had practiced in his pod the night before.

“All right, Mr. Alvarez---that was a very lovely speech you just made, but now, we’d like to ask you some questions,” the interviewer named Dawkins said to him.

“Mr. Dawkins, you can ask me whatever you want.”

“You were convicted of beating a seventy-five-year-old man, then cutting his face, all because his car scratched yours,” the female interviewer Sommers said.

“Yeah. I wasn’t myself that day,” he responded.

“Once you were in Oswald, you cut your own face, and later, tried to hang yourself in your cell. Were you yourself either of those days?” she continued.

“Last year, you masterminded an escape from Oswald,” Dawkins said.

“I didn’t mastermind an escape. Busmalis was digging a tunnel, and I was fearing for my life---”

“You were one of the major leaders in the riot and hurt a number of people, including an officer, Joseph Mineo,” Ruiz, the last interviewer who had been staring at him hard throughout the entire hearing, said.

“He was making a move on me---” Alvarez began to say, but was interrupted again.

“Later---you poked out the eyes of another officer, Eugene Rivera. Then, you murdered two fellow prisoners, Carlo Ricardo, and a Jorge Vasquez,” Ruiz spoke in an ever harsher and condemning tone. “So, my question is, what the fuck makes you think we should set you free, you little prick?”

He tried hard to remain calm, but something inside him snapped and he jumped up and reached over the table to punch Ruiz in the face. The other two interviewers jumped back in fright and horror as Alvarez continued to hit him in the face. All his work and progress was gone. In one single act, all his hard work had been extinguished by his past actions. An officer quickly entered the room and tried to get a grip and restrain the Latino.

“Knock it off!” the hack’s voice was forceful. “Let him go, Alvarez!”

The hack pulled him off and Alvarez swore he saw Ruiz smile as he was being dragged out of the interview room. He was trying to fight the hack off as two more came over and finally subdued him. Everything was ruined now and he had fallen back into the clutches of Oz. There really was no escaping this place. The hacks took him down to Solitary and threw him in a cell without his tie or suit jacket. He felt his body shutting down on him because he was back in the small cell again. Solitary was going to claim him.

McManus was there listening to all of them rant and rave. He had believed in all of them at one point, but they all had ended up back here. It was disheartening to see so much good work and unbounded potential go down the drain and wasted. Alvarez was supposed to be a fucking shining star, but he had let his anger control him again. McManus’s head wanted to explode from everyone yelling and screaming things at him. All of them had been his mistakes. His failures.

“Fuck! This is bullshit!” Alvarez screamed as he punched the wall of his cell and his voice echoed throughout Solitary. “I’m fucking telling them. I’m trying to tell them how I’m rehabilitated---fucking bullshit! He asked me how I think I changed in all this bullshit. I’m talking to him, and I’m trying to explain how I changed. Are you listening to me?”

“McManus, I got to talk to you about my trial,” Kirk yelled from his cell.

“And he just fucking cuts me off! He just cuts me off!” the Latino kept on.

“I’m lonely---I’m afraid,” Cyril O’Reily said.

“Are you listening to me?” Alvarez said.

“Montgomery is a cunt that got what he deserved. Cunt!” Stanton said.

“Hey---that CO had no right to shove my face in shit,” Penders banged his hands against the metal gate and said.

“Get me out of here. Get me the fuck out of here!” Martinez screamed.

“I’m afraid,” Cyril was almost whimpering now.

“Cunt!” Stanton said again.

“Get me the fuck out of here!” Martinez screamed again.

“McManus!” Alvarez yelled out.

Oz was quicksand that only pulled him down quicker when he tried to fight for escape. Now, he was there again and would lose his mind if he couldn’t get himself out. Alvarez scratched his head hard and ripped his shirt as he wondered when the voices were going to come back to him. Ruiz had fucking provoked him---none of them ever gave him a chance to talk or defend himself. He had crashed back into the ground so hard after building himself up and trying to move on from Oz. There was going to be no Maritza or no baby---no fucking freedom from this place!

 

**The Irishman was** sitting on his bed in his pod and looking out onto the quad as he thought about what had happened with Alvarez. El Norte, and especially that bastard Guerra, were all too happy to spread the news that he had attacked one of the interviewers and had been sent back to Solitary. O’Reily knew something was fishy because he knew Alvarez did not attack unless he was provoked or felt threatened. Maybe it all had been a setup from El Norte themselves. All the possibilities were there.

He expected a strong reaction when he had told the Latino about the fixed boxing match, but he did not expect that the partnership would be called off. O’Reily was stupid for being honest because now he was left with nothing. The inside of his cheek had been swollen for days and it had hurt every time he had even remotely moved his jaw. Alvarez had struck him good---maybe it was payment because had never gotten to show what he could do in the ring. He had to figure out a plan to get Alvarez out of Solitary and back into their partnership.

“Lollipops won’t work this time,” he said to himself. “Shit, loco!”

Meehan was sitting at a table with Beecher and they were talking as he looked on. The disgraced priest’s efforts to get inside his head had intensified since Kenmin’s body had been found in his Solitary cell. He had always said that he only wanted to talk, but O’Reily never talked about his past---never spoke about her. It was a dark time that he was not sure if he was past or not. Officer Murphy appeared at his door and poked his head into the pod.

“O’Reily, come on. The Sister needs to see you,” the officer said.

“What for?”

“Come on!”

Cyril had acted out again---during his transfer from Solitary to death row. He had gotten scared and confused and had attacked the officers who were trying to restraining him. In the office, Sister Pete, Dr. Nathan, and Warden Glynn were having the conversation with him, but O’Reily only thought about his brother. Everything was getting worse by the second and now, he had more problems to deal with. Cyril was supposed to remain with him.

“Finally, the S.O.R.T. team had to subdue your brother,” Glynn finished the story.

“Christ,” was all he could say.

“I gave him some Haladol, to calm him down, but, as we’ve learned from previous episodes, it’s just a stopgap measure,” Dr. Nathan said to him. “It’s never going to be a long-term solution to Cyril’s violent episodes.”

“We don’t need a long-term solution. The judge has set his execution for next month,” the warden informed them.

“What?” O’Reily was shocked.

“Why are you acting so surprised? He was found guilty of the murder of Li Chen. The punishment is death. Look, you’re going to have to discuss with Cyril the way he wants to die---either the electric chair or lethal injection.”

“Lethal injection,” he said. “Man, I just want Cyril to doze off and go to sleep.”

“There’s more to it than that. The drugs they inject into his body first paralyze him,” Dr. Nathan said.

“Oh, yeah---I don’t want to hear the details, okay?”

“It’s not okay, Ryan,” Sister Pete spoke to him. “Up to this point, you’ve resisted all our attempts to help your brother. You should know what his last moments will be like.”

“Can I see him?”

“Not yet. I’ll allow a visit once he’s settled down. Take O’Reily back to Em City,” the warden said to him and then instructed an officer.

A few hours had passed and there was a commotion going on outside the capital building a few blocks away. It was what he had overheard the hacks talking about but he already knew what was going on. O’Reily sat in the quad with Meehan next to him as he watched the latest newscast that was being shot live just minutes away. Both Sister Pete and his mother were protesting Cyril’s death penalty verdict. Meehan looked proud of himself but the Irishman was sick to his stomach and getting more upset the more he watched the news.

“The guilt or innocence of Cyril O’Reily is not an issue here,” Sister Peter Marie was saying into a microphone. “The question is whether the eight amendment of our constitution, which protects us from cruel and unusual punishment, will also protect Cyril O’Reily, whose IQ, by the way, is fifty-one. That’s one of the lowest IQs of any condemned prisoner on record.”

“As a mother, I appeal---I plead to all the mothers and fathers out there to stop the state from committing this monstrous act,” Suzanne Fitzgerald said.

“Governor Devlin refused to comment on the demonstration held outside the capital building,” the news anchor reported.

“You know, Meehan, you can hold a million press conferences, but you’re still not going to be able to save my brother.”

“Well, if I had that attitude, you’d be right, but I’m going to prove you wrong Mr. O’Reily,” Meehan said. “I’m going to show you the power of prayer, of hope---of faith in the almighty.”

“Okay, well, while you’re at it, why don’t you suck my dick?”

He pushed his chair back and walked away from the foolish man because he was tired of all the nonsense. These conferences did not mean shit because Cyril was still going to be executed. O’Reily wanted to talk to Alvarez---there was no contact with him in Solitary because Redding did not let him do food deliveries. The nigger was turning out to be more of an ass than Pancamo had been before him. He quickly went into his pod to change his clothes and was off to the gym to lift weights, or do something that was going to clear his mind.

Beads of sweat fell down his face as he pumped the heavy weights in each hand and breathed strongly. Everything had been building up in his mind and was starting to overpower him. He did not want to talk to Meehan, but it did not seem likely he had a choice. They were podmates and he was so damn persistent with his questioning. O’Reily spent the next hour or two in the gym until he was forced back to Em City because of the familiar buzzer. Something had gone down.

“Lockdown! Lockdown!” a hack yelled as he entered Em City and was forced to his pod.

“Ryan, tell me about Carolyn,” Meehan said after everything had settled.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Carolyn---your little sister.”

“She’s dead---end of story,” O’Reily looked at the man and wondered what his angle was.

“Well, then, don’t tell me the end. Tell me the beginning, the middle, and all---”

“Who the fuck told you about Carolyn?”

“Well---that doesn’t matter. Just tell me your memory of her,” the man threaded carefully.

“No.”

“She was barely six-months-old---fell out of her crib and broke her neck.”

“Why are you doing this?” the Irishman asked in disgust because he did not want to rehash that part of his life.

“Well, I’ve seen how you love your brother, how you’re protective of him, yet you’re willing to let him die---and I wanted to know why.”

“I thought I told you before---death is better than any day in Oz. Isn’t that what you priests are always preaching---the upside of life everlasting, and all that fucking Catholic nonsense?”

“Did you have any responsibility for Carolyn’s death? Were you taking care of her when she fell?” Meehan continued to dangerously probe.

“No, I’m not talking about this,” he said adamantly. “I haven’t spoken about my little sister with anyone in my entire life---not even Cyril. And I’m not about to start with you!”

“So, that’s what happened---you think you killed her?”

“No.”

“So, what did happen?”

“Shut up!”

All these feelings were stirring inside him and he did not want anything to come to the surface. No one was ever supposed to know about Carolyn and he was getting angry at the constant questioning. Meehan did not know when to cork it and the conversation was becoming too dangerous for him. O’Reily walked over to the door and looked outside the quad, as he kept quiet. He had wanted to go to the police back then---he was so small and everything had happened so fast. She was gone in a flash.

“Ryan, now is the time to speak the truth. You’ve been carrying this burden on your back for far too long,” Meehan tried to coax the truth out of him. “Whatever you say to me will stay right here between us.”

“No. No.”

“Like a confession. Now you can finally say what you want to say since Carolyn died.”

“No---fuck you!” O’Reily turned around and punched the man in his face. “Goddammit! Fuck! Don’t. Please stop. ”

“Come on,” he said as he recovered from the blow. “It’s all right.”

“I went to a priest, and I told him the truth but he didn’t believe me. And she was so small---it’s my little sister.”

“I know. God loves you. God loves you.”

His voice had cracked and he was fighting with his body not to let tears flow. Meehan came up behind him and rested his hand on his shoulder as to say everything was going to be okay. She was fucking dead---he couldn’t save his baby sister. One tear slid down and dropped to the floor but he was in control again. O’Reily shrugged off the hand from his shoulder and remained quiet for the rest of the night. Meehan knew better than to push anymore so he too remained quiet and got ready for bed. Tomorrow was going to be another day in here.

“Lights out!” Murphy called and everything went dark.

The Irishman rested on his bed and watched outside as he thought about what it all had meant. He thought about what Meehan’s purpose had been to dredge up the past like that---in such a raw way. It had to have been his Aunt Brenda that spilled the news about Carolyn. His father had never spoken about it since it happened. O’Reily tossed and turned to try to get some sleep. It had made him feel better momentarily for getting it out in the open, but quickly made him feel sick that someone in this hellhole knew something so deep and personal about him. Meehan was going to pay with his life if anything ever got out.

He had been on the phone the next day telling his father to come for a visit. The conversation last night with Meehan had given him some prospective and he felt as if he was ready to confront one of the darkest demons within his soul. O’Reily remained to himself in the visitor’s room as he waited for his father to arrive. There was a twinge in his brain and hatred inside his heart. It was all threatening to engulf him and make him lost within his own fragmented soul.

“Suddenly, I’m famous,” Seamus O’Reily said as he approached the table and sat. “I've done six interviews---newspapers and TV, ever since that nonsense with your brother started. I got to admit, I’m getting kind of used to the attention. The guys down at Kelsey’s---they’ve been buying me rounds every night. And, there’s this broad, sits at the end of the bar, she’s been flirting with me. I might just fuck her.”

“You going to see Cyril while you’re in the building?” he said without hiding the disgust in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah---I guess I ought to. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to say to that boy.”

“Tell him you love him.”

“Oh, yeah---right.”

“You ever told Cyril that, dad? Cyril, or anyone?” O’Reily questioned angrily. “Ma? Tessie, when you were married? Have the words ‘I love you’ ever crossed your lips? Because, I never heard them---not once.”

“Don’t start with your whining.”

“I’m sorry---I forgot how sensitive you are.”

“You asked me to come---I’m here. State your business,” his father was losing his patience.

“I want to ask you about Carolyn.”

“Carolyn? What about her?”

“I want to talk about the day she died,” O’Reily said because it had gone on for far too long. “I remember her crying, you know, non-stop, for what seemed like hours. Tessie couldn’t get her quiet. You were drunk and in a foul mood. Sit down!”

He demanded this Seamus O’Reily quickly stood up and said, “Fuck you!”

“You sit---or I finish telling my story to a cop,” he said lowly and dangerously and waited for his father to take his seat before he continued. “Carolyn was crying and you took her from Tessie’s arms and you put your hands around her and you shook her and you shook her and you shook her until she stopped---until she went limp, like a rag doll.”

“She fell out of her crib,” the man said.

“No. I was there, dad. I was in the doorway. I saw what happened,” he told his father with hatred laced to his every word.

“You were just a kid. What the fuck did you know about anything?” Seamus O’Reily got defensive and said. “Think my old man didn’t beat me---that fucking scumbag? My life has been nothing but shit since the day I was born, and I didn’t have no brother to lean on like you did. I been alone my whole fucking life, and, soon---you’ will be, too.”

“I’ll never tell anyone the truth about what happened with Carolyn. That’s between you and me. But, dad, you better pray to Jesus Christ almighty himself that I never get out of this place, because, when I do---I will kill you,” O’Reily said lowly.

He immediately got up from the table and left the visitor’s room after that because he wanted to do the act right there. That bastard did not deserve to live---did not deserve to breathe one more breath. O’Reily crunched his fists tightly to regain control over his emotions as he walked back to Em City. His father had no remorse for what had happened to Carolyn. All he was concerned about was covering his tracks. On his way back, he saw Sister Pete and called out to her. This had gone on for long enough and he had to become proactive now.

“Hey, Sister. Look---I want you to know that I’ve decided to become totally selfish, okay. I’m not going to lose Cyril from my life. I’m going to help save him. And, whatever you need me to do, I’m here one hundred percent,” he said to her with every intention of sticking to his words.

“I am so glad to hear that,” the nun smiled at him and replied.

They discussed it a bit further and Sister Pete said she was going to try to get him to see Cyril today. He thanked her and walked back to Em City to wait for everything to go through. Carolyn was gone---she was never coming back. Despite them not having their freedom, they had each other in Oz and O’Reily was going to fight with everything in him to keep them together.

He was sitting at a table in the quad by himself waiting for Sister Pete’s words. It had been hours and almost time for lights out but a hack had approached him and they left shortly after that. The Irishman followed him to death row and wanted more than anything to see his brother. Cyril was staring at the wall with his back to the gate so he did not notice when O’Reily had come. He just looked at his brother and the pain in his heart was almost unbearable. He was doomed to either be executed or spend the rest of his life confined away to a small cell.

“Hey, little brother,” he cleared his throat and made his presence known. “Who loves you?”

“You do,” Cyril replied in an almost teary tone.

“Fucking A.”

The hack opened the door and warned him that he only had five minutes as Cyril walked over and hugged him tightly. He hugged back and tried to make his own heart stop hurting. His brother was shaking---he was scared and alone in death row. O’Reily rubbed his back and tried to whisper words of encouragement but, deep down, he knew they were almost at the end of the rope. Options were gone and time was running out to save him. He was whispering the words to Cyril, knowing explicitly that he did not believe in them himself. It was all too much.

“Let’s go,” the hack came back and said. “Time’s up.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **It had been months since** he was thrown into Solitary for assaulting Ruiz and Alvarez had felt the small space creeping into his brain since his first hour back. It hurt far worse this time because he had come so far with Julie, and himself, only to end up back there. The Latino looked up at the ceiling as he rested on his bed and waited for the morning to begin. It was lonely there and his mind was slowly unraveling to drag him back to the dark depths that would never be extinguished inside him.

Not that he was expecting it, because he had said that their partnership was over, but Alvarez always wanted a note, or something, from O’Reily. He checked with every breakfast, lunch, and dinner tray he had gotten. He had never found anything and had regretted punching the man and ending their partnership. Trust was an important thing though and the víbora knew how much he valued it above anything else. Alvarez had every right to get upset the way he had, but O’Reily had told him on his own accord about spiking the water. Maybe that was some sort of progress for him---someone who lied and manipulated every situation he was placed in.

“Good morning, boys,” Howell addressed them all. “Today’s the big day. All you yokels get to whine and snivel in front of the review board in hopes that we’ll let you out of Solitary. Though, God knows why you’d want to leave this paradise.”

“My man McManus---he’s going to vouch for me,” Omar White said in his annoying voice. “He’s going to save me, you know?”

“I’d say my chances are fifty-fifty,” Schillinger said.

“Glynn’s a fuckhead! That motherfucker’s never going to let me out,” Alvarez said.

“You’ll cast your vote for me, won’t you, Officer Howell?” Stanton said is a sweet voice. “I’ll suck your big, fat hole!”

“Where’s breakfast? Breakfast!” Penders whined.

“What are you looking at, Martinez?” Howell said as she stopped in front of the man’s cell.

“You,” was the response.

“Step back.”

“Make me,” Martinez smiled and Howell opened the heavy metal door and gate to enter his pod.

“How’d you know I was in the mood for a little Mexican food?” she said and shoved up against him in a lewd manner.

“I’m Puerto Rican.”

“Same difference. Strip,” the ugly hack commanded.

Martinez pulled down his pants as Howell did the same to get the act started. It had been this way for weeks now---the hack never seemed to be satisfied and she was always screaming, much to the annoyance of the other inmates there. There were only a few minutes of silence before skin started smacking against one another and grunts became more escalated and vocal.

“Oh---Martinez is fucking Howell,” Penders said.

“He’s fucking her again?” Alvarez replied, annoyingly.

“He must need to make a phone call.”

“Damn!”

Alvarez went back to his bed and buried his head under his pillow because he knew she was going to be screaming down the entire Solitary cellblock within moments. It was fucking annoying and getting out of hand. He had to get out of there, but Glynn was not going to let that happen. No matter how much progress he had made, and, aside from his relapse with Ruiz, the warden still had a hateful grudge against him. Alvarez knew he had to get used to smothering his ears with his pillow because he was going to stay right where he was.

“Guess I got my hopes up too high. I’m not going to do that again,” the Latino sadly said to himself under the protection of the pillow.

It was irritating to hear Howell and Martinez go at it. She became a fucking banshee when she was being fucked, but Alvarez was also a little jealous. Martinez was getting to touch somebody, even if it was the ugly hack. He wanted nothing to do with her, but he missed the way he and O’Reily had touched each other on those few occasions. And sometimes, the Irishman’s hand or breath would unknowingly brush against him and he felt shivers. That was how much he had craved being touched and kissed again.

It was just after lunch when Howell opened his cell door and imposed herself inside his small space. His claustrophobia had gotten better when he was in Em City, or had O’Reily to distract him when they were alone in the storage closets together, but it had returned in full force the minute he was thrown back inside there. The ugly hack informed him that the warden wanted to talk to him. Alvarez knew it was for the worst so he did not bother to get excited when he walked into Glynn’s office and took a seat.

“By a vote of four to three, we’ve decided to release you from Solitary,” Glynn said as he tried to hide the contempt in his face and voice.

“You’re shitting me?” he was shocked.

“No, Miguel,” McManus happily said. “You’re coming back to Em City.”

“McManus put himself on the line for you, Alvarez. Don’t fuck him over with more of your nonsense.”

“My nonsense---no. I’ve got enemies. I can’t control their nonsense,” Alvarez told them.

A hack escorted him back to Solitary to gather his things and he returned to Em City. He came back his pod in Em City and began unpacking his stuff. It was all happening so fast that he did not have time to think about much else. Alvarez soaked up all the free space of the quad---even the pods were bigger than the cells in Solitary. He packed his stuff away and seriously had to think about his next move. If he was not careful, these chances of getting out of Solitary would soon dry up and he was going to be stuck in there forever.

The Latino thought about reviving his partnership with O’Reily but he was wary about trusting him. But, as far as he knew, the Irishman had not betrayed him while they were partners. That had to mean something---especially for someone who lied and manipulated with every word that escaped his lips. Alvarez was knocked out of his thoughts by a hack informing him that McManus had wanted a word. He walked over to the office but stopped against the wall as he heard a conversation already going on inside.

“So, what was that little scuffle with Torres about?” McManus said.

“I don’t know. He’s crazy,” he heard Guerra say.

“Okay, Chico. You know, I’ve been doing some sniffing around, and I’ve been able to piece together some information I thought you’d find sort of interesting. It’s about Miguel Alvarez. Every problem he’s had for the past five years or so, is somehow tied to you.”

“Me? No.”

“So, I’m telling you this,” McManus ignored him and went on. “If Miguel has anymore difficulties, I’m going to be looking to blame you. And now that we got a lot of free space in Solitary, my first reaction to any trouble will be to ship your ass there.”

“Wait a minute!” Guerra began to protest but Alvarez walked in after hearing enough.

“Miguel---we were just talking about you,” the unit manager said. “Guerra’s got something to say to you.”

“Yeah. You know---you and me, we started out as friends. And, even though a whole lot of shit has come down since then, I’m thinking maybe we could, you know---”

“Yeah, Chico,” the Latino was cautious but said too. “Lo siento mucho si tradate de lastimart. Agradezco que estas vivo. Asi te lo puedo decir en la cara.”

“Yo tambien,” Guerra said back.

“Shake hands,” McManus said.

So much shit had gone on between them over the years in Oz that it was hard to believe either was sincere when they both shook hands. Alvarez did not want to keep fighting the same battle and hoped this small step was going to make some kind of peace between them---or, at least keep them out of each other’s way. A small brotherly hug happened between them and Alvarez left McManus’s office without another word. Guerra had seemed sincere in his words, but his actions were going to have to show that. Maybe the hostility between them was going to change.

Morales had nodded at him through the glass door of his pod as he passed by. The El Norte leader seemed pleased that he and Guerra decided to put aside their differences. Alvarez nodded back and went up to his cell because he was not sure about joining the Latino gang again. He had been on his own for so long now and joining up with Morales was definitely going to skew his chances of being paroled anytime soon. Alvarez had to get out of here. He had to leave Oz behind him for good.

Inside his pod, the Latino was fighting with himself as to what to do about Ryan O’Reily. Their partnership had been something great, and still, no one had associated them together. Morales and Redding were just as clueless as everyone else was. At the very least, Alvarez had to say sorry for the punch. In retrospect, it had been a bad move on his part. O’Reily had apologized a few times for the boxing match---he figured it was his turn. Trust was still the big issue between them and a big part of him knew that just because the víbora hadn’t bitten him while they had been partners, there was still no guarantee that Alvarez would never get bitten.

He knew it was impossible and selfish to ask O’Reily for that kind of guarantee, but he needed something to start rebuilding his trust. Hours had passed in his pod as he thought of the perfect place for them to meet. He thought of how he was going to get word to the Irishman without anyone being the wiser. With Meehan sharing his pod, leaving a note there was out of the question. Passing something in the cafeteria was too risky for his taste. At least the one time that had done that, Julie had served as the distraction for the other inmates’ eyes. A risky idea presented itself to his thoughts and he went to rip a small piece of paper to write down the instructions.

**Janitor’s closet off the AIDS ward. Tomorrow, after lunch.**

It was after dinner and most of the inmates were watching TV in the quad or waiting for lights out. It had to be precise timing and O’Reily had a front pocket in his shirt---it was perfect. They sat four chairs from one another and never looked at each other because it would have been too obvious---maybe it was also too hard to do so. The Irishman left to go to his pod and the time was coming close. As soon as Alvarez saw he was coming back, he stood up and started walking towards him. The note fastened tightly between his thumb and index fingers.

“Watch where you’re going, spic,” O’Reily said when Alvarez gently bumped into him and he felt a finger quickly go into his shirt pocket.

“My bad, O’Reily,” he said as he let a small smile escape his lips to let the other man know their running into each other was on purpose. “That was my fault.”

“Is there a problem here?” Murphy questioned them both as he approached.

“No, officer,” Alvarez said and he walked away.

The Latino climbed the stairs and went to his pod for the night---count was going to be soon anyway and he did not feel like being in the quad anymore. The one person he wanted to talk to, he could not because they could not be associated together in public. _Tomorrow, then._ Alvarez brushed his teeth and waited for the hack to call for count. Hopefully O’Reily had felt the finger in his shirt pocket because he had pressed against his chest as hard as he could, without drawing more attention to either of them, to place emphasis on that particular spot of his body when he had passed the note.

At lunch the next day, O’Reily’s eyes did not even cross his when he was in the lunch line---this worried him because maybe he had not found the note. Alvarez ate lunch quickly and, having bribing the guard earlier, was let out of the cafeteria practically to wander the halls of Oz freely---the irony made him sick. He hurried over to the AIDS ward. It was mainly quiet there now and hacks were rarely ever needed. He withdrew into the janitor’s closet to wait. It was by far the biggest closet they had used and it instantly became one of his favorites.

He stood against the wall and began to wait. He hoped O’Reily read the note and knew about the meeting. It was going to be a little while because he had help clean up the kitchen after lunch was finished. Alvarez was a little nervous and kept licking his lips because they kept getting dry. At the very least, he was hoping O’Reily was going to accept his apology. Reviving the partnership would be great, but the Latino was not going to push anything because he was still cautious with it came to the víbora. He was just going to react accordingly to the words that were going to be between them soon enough. The doorknob wiggled and his heart jumped.

“Real smooth, yesterday,” O’Reily said after he closed the door behind him. “Only every inmate and hack in Em City saw you run into me. Nice touch with the note, though. No one saw that shit.”

“Hey---I had to get your attention somehow.”

“Well, you got it---not to mention almost leaving a damn bruise on my chest,” he resisted the urge to laugh. “What’s going on?”

Alvarez took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m sorry I punched you, you know. I shouldn’t have gotten that mad about the boxing match. I---that’s really what I wanted to say.”

“Why now? I’ve been wanting to talk since before you got sent back to Solitary. What’s changed?” O’Reily fired off his thoughts as he moved closer and away from the door.

“Nothing. I had a lot of time to think when I was back there, you know. Nothing’s changed.”

“Tell that to my jaw,” the Irishman rubbed his jaw in the same spot where he had been punched months ago.

“Shut up! There’s no way that punch still hurts. Even my hook isn’t that good. I overreacted---I admit it.”

“It hurt for like five days after, though. You would’ve killed Cramer in the ring.”

“We’ll never know now,” Alvarez said.

“I already said sorry for that. I’m not going to say it again,” he got a little defensive.

“No---no. That’s not why I asked you to come. It was mainly for me to say sorry.”

The conversation was awkward and both felt uncomfortable for practically no reason. There were still so many unspoken issues between them---quieted feelings of exploration and sometimes comfort. Neither was willing to make the first move because touch and comfort was the quickest way to death in this shithole. There was still a physical distance between them, even though O’Reily had moved away from the door and closer to him. Alvarez wanted to trust him, but his instincts were puffed up like an animal on the defensive---an animal that was not willing to give up its territory.

“What about the partnership?” O’Reily became brave and asked. “Is that still an option anymore?”

“I---I’m not sure. I don’t know,” was his uncertain response.

“It’s something great that no one ever had a fucking clue about. That’s the best part about it.”

“I know, but---it’s complicated.”

“What is? Is something going on here, Alvarez?” O’Reily almost demanded because he wanted an answer.

“No---nothing. I don’t know if becoming partners again would do us any good,” Alvarez said the words but even he himself did not believe them.

“What are you talking about? You going back to El Norte?”

“No---I don’t think so. I made peace with Guerra yesterday in McManus’s office, though,” he replied.

“Peace---with Guerra? Don’t be blind, Miguel. It could be some plot Morales is hatching against you,” the Irishman said with conviction.

“I’m not fucking dumb! I’m still on guard---but, he seemed like he wanted to be sincere.”

It was pointless for them to be arguing about Guerra because he was insignificant and not even worth their time. Alvarez wanted the buried shit between them to stay buried though, because he was tired of the lapdog’s vendetta against him. O’Reily was worked up when he told him about them making peace and he wondered what that was about. The víbora had never been bothered by anything in such a public way unless it had meant something to him. He was definitely trying to hide something behind his eyes.

“That’s it, then? You make nice with Guerra and Morales has you doing his shit all over again?” O’Reily said and was not supposed to be as upset and snappy as he was. “It’s like a fucking cycle with you.”

“Hey---it’s not like that, all right? Me making peace with Guerra had nothing to do with Morales or El Norte.”

“You say that now. Let’s see if you’re singing the same tune once Morales comes knocking.”

“You think I’m that easily controlled---that easily manipulated? And by him?” Alvarez said with a flare of anger in his voice. ‘You do, don’t you? You fucking do---I see it in your face.”

“No. No---I didn’t mean that. I didn’t. Hey---I didn’t. It’s just---I mean, why can’t we be partners again?” the Irishman finally got his question out.

“I don’t trust you, all right,” he replied in a firm and truthful voice. “I don’t trust you.”

“You’re testing me---again.”

“I have to figure out how to trust you again. I know it didn’t happen while we were partners---I know that. But---I don’t think I can right now, you know?” Alvarez said.

“You know, I’ve never had to work this hard with any of my other partnerships. But, this---this is different.”

“How? Why is it different?”

“Because---because I want to be your partner, Miguel,” O’Reily told him. “I want to be your partner more than I wanted to be partners with any of those other fucks I’ve partnered with before. You and I get shit done without anyone knowing a damn thing. I like that---I really like that.”

“I---I don’t know, man.”

“Then, I have to do something to prove it to you.”

The Latino looked at him and said, “What---no. You don’t have to do that. It’ll probably build back up in time.”

“Time is something we don’t got.”

“What---what can you do to make me start trusting you right now? What are you going to do?”

O’Reily met his gaze and his face became critical when he said, “Suck your dick.”

Alvarez had never seen the man’s face so serious before and he almost choked on the air he was breathing when he heard the response to his question. A jolt of excitement electrified his spine when he heard the words, but it was wrong. He did not want to subject O’Reily to something like that just to prove his trust. He had to do it because he wanted to, because they both wanted to---not to be used as some sort of demented bargaining chip. It was wrong and he was not going to go for it---not this way. And, that part of their partnership had been taken off the table a long time ago, anyway.

“What? No, víbora. That’s crazy! What the hell are you saying?” the Latino was uncomfortable because of how serious he was as he offered his proposition.

“I know,” O’Reily said and he moved closer. “I’ve never ever done it before, but I know this is how I can get you to trust me again.”

“Not like this---no. Not like this. I can’t have you do it like this.”

“I want to earn your trust. I---I want to do this,” he stumbled over the last words but said them as confidently as he could, given the situation he was in.

“No---it’s not right. Not this way.”

“So, you’re turning down a blowjob---from me?” O’Reily grinned as he moved even closer now. “Is that correct? Am I really hearing you correctly?”

“Ryan---I want this. I want this, but---it wouldn’t feel right,” Alvarez said, but felt himself giving in the closer the other man got to him. “Not like this.”

“Trust and loyalty is important to you---I get that. Hell, I even admire that about you. It’s hard for me to trust---really hard. That’s why I lie. It’s easier for me to lie to someone than trying to trust them. I want to do this, loco. I want to try.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself like this. We can be partners again---”

“Hey, Miguel---shut up! Just shut the fuck up. Shut up and go with it. I don’t expect anything in return.”

“But---”

And with that, O’Reily closed the distance between them and planted a kiss on those soft and pouty lips that tasted like candy at the moment---maybe a blow pop or something. His emotions were driving him and his brain was silent because he had thought about this practically since Alvarez had been thrown back into Solitary. There was something more than partnership there, and the Irishman was trying not to fight it. The word ‘fag’ still bothered him, but those thoughts were hushed by his raging adrenaline and need to prove himself---the want of doing this.

Tongues clashed for supremacy and the Latino used his arms to grip their bodies together while his hands trailed up inside O’Reily’s shirt and was touching his back. A small grunt leaked out of the side of his lips and he closed his eyes because the touching overloaded his senses. It had been denied for far too long and he wanted it all back. O’Reily grabbed his dick through his jeans and rubbed on it---the hard fabric chafing against the sensitive skin was a dramatic pleasure in itself. Alvarez moaned when his mouth was free. O’Reily stood close and looked down to his hand as it cupped and squeezed the Latino’s crotch.

“Ryan, Ryan---Ryan, I don’t think I can do this,” he tried to say. “Uhh---ohh.”

“Your body says different. Seems like we’ve switched positions from the first time we did this, loco,” the Irishman smiled at the irony of the change.

“I can’t. Not this---not this way. Uh-huh.”

“Hey---do I need to come back there and shut you up again?”

Alvarez knew this was going to happen no matter how much he protested it. He body did not care about the moral implications of the act itself---it just knew it was being touched and kissed and caressed. He had to enjoy what his body craved. O’Reily wasted no time as he got on his knees and looked a little scared at where his face was. He was really going to do this---he was really going to suck another man’s dick and, a part of him had wanted to. Alvarez looked down to give him a small smile and he reached his hand out and touched the fabric of the jeans again. The Irishman was on his knees and in front of a man with every intention of orally pleasuring him.

He was already hard behind his clothing and O’Reily’s heart was beating faster as he continued to stroke Alvarez’s package through his pants. A button became undone and a zipper slowly slid down as boxers came into view. O’Reily pulled down both articles of clothing far enough and his dick came flopping out. Alvarez sucked air when he felt himself exposed and knew he was already leaking precum. He looked nervous as he hesitated to touch it. Alvarez was going to speak up but the Irishman grabbed the base of his dick and immediately put the uncircumcised head into his mouth to keep him quiet.

O’Reily tasted salt on his tongue and was surprisingly not as disgusted by it as he thought he would be. He had no idea what he was doing though, and it was awkward. He tried to go deeper but it was too much for him---his teeth kept getting in the way and Alvarez winced in slight pain every time something sharp scratched against his hypersensitive organ. O’Reily stroked the hairy base but he could not find a rhythm or take more than the head into his mouth. It felt so unnatural---like a hockey stick was inside his mouth. He continued to try and suck but his teeth scraped against both the top and bottom of Alvarez’s dickhead.

“Oww---oww! Ahh---shit! Watch your teeth,” he said because the pain was not pleasurable.

“Cut me some slack, loco,” O’Reily defended as he looked up for their eyes to meet. “I ain’t ever done this shit before. I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ve gotten head before, right?”

“What the hell do you think?”

“Use how those women did it to you as a guide,” Alvarez told him. “Maritza used to lick the head and use her lips to suck on it. Try that---and without your teeth.”

“This is hard,” O’Reily said and saw the Latino grinning at him. “Not what I meant!”

“You can’t take it all---I know that. Just do what you can. It was feeling good---aside from your teeth.”

“Hey---pleasure is pain.”

“Yeah, well---not this time,” he said.

This was not how he was expecting it to go, but he was no expert at sucking dick. Alvarez’s dick was the first he had ever touched like this---a sexual way. He and Cyril had jerked each other off a few times when they were preteens, but there was nothing sexual about that. It had just been two brothers helping one another out and, even then, it had only happened a handful of times before it had stopped completely. It was some kind of rite of passage O’Reily suspected that all boys had went through, so he had never thought anything else of it. There had been nothing else to think about.

He wanted to pleasure the man, so he took his time and tried to follow the advice that was given to him. He pretended Alvarez was a popsicle he wanted to suck on and lick, but not bite---his teeth would stay out of the equation that way. O’Reily also drew on all his experience of being on the receiving end to try to get this over with. He licked the head and tasted more salt as one hand jacked Alvarez at his bushy base and the other went down to fondle his balls. He was slowly beginning to find the rhythm between his stroking and sucking.

The Latino groaned and murmured words of encouragement at the improvement and gently began swaying his hips back and forth as the fingers from one of his hands got lost in O’Reily’s hair. His eyes were closed and he grunted as he felt lips suction around his head as if they were trying to swallow completely. Teeth grazed against his pulsating shaft occasionally, but he was too gone in pleasure to care about the pain. Alvarez held on to his head with the one hand and began easily thrusting into his mouth because he was close.

O’Reily jacked him off as he sucked on the head and the first couple of inches Alvarez was thrusting into his mouth. He knew he was going to choke if it went any further down his throat. His body was shaking though so it meant he was getting close. The Irishman quickened his sucking and licking while his hand created a little heat as his rapidly jacked off the base of Alvarez’s dick. He spoke a flurry of English and Spanish words that made no sense, but his low and blissful voice was sexy. He was a fucking sexy man with a face and body that would make anyone stop and stare. O’Reily realized that he was sucking Alvarez’s dick more because he wanted to than wanting to prove his trust to the man. It was dangerous territory.

“I’m cumming! Shit---I’m cumming!” the Latino finally spoke in words that made sense. “Uhh!”

He pulled his mouth off Alvarez’s throbbing manhood, but remained jacking him off, just in time to see a stream of the white liquid erupt and fall onto the floor in front of him. His body convulsed at the gratification and there was a serene smile on his face as his eyes were still closed and his head tilted a little to the side. O’Reily got up from his knees and pressed their bodies into the wall as he kissed the man to bring him back to reality. He was a little jealous because, for a moment, Alvarez looked like he had escaped Oz. Again. The Irishman wanted that too---now was not the time, though.

“Hey---hey,” he called out and kissed him again. “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.”

“Fuck you!” Alvarez said after his eyes fluttered open. “That was---”

“Yeah. Pull your pants back up. We got to get going soon.”

Alvarez grabbed a paper towel from a nearby shelf and wiped his softened dick clean before he replaced it in his boxers and pulled up his pants to button them. O’Reily was looking at him the whole time and it felt weird. He had actually done it. It was something monumental because everybody in Oz knew O’Reily was not a fag but it had happened for real. Alvarez remained quiet as he adjusted himself and wondered what this meant for them---wondered if it would ever happen again.

“Hey, uh---thanks,” Alvarez was confused as to what to say. “I didn’t think you’d do it, you know.”

“Don’t doubt me,” O’Reily came up so close to his face and said. “Don’t doubt the partnership. I’m serious about this, loco.”

“No, yeah---I know.”

“Good,” he said and was happy with the progress they had just made. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“A blowjob in exchange for a favor? It looks like you’re back to your old ways already, víbora,” the Latino smiled and teased.

“No it doesn’t! That was never my old way,” he got defensive and said. “I told you---I never did that with anyone before.”

“Okay---okay. Relax. It was just a joke,” Alvarez gave him a short kiss after he said. “What’s the favor?”

“My mom told me about an idea she had and was going to tell the warden about---doing a play. I think you should join it.”

“What---no, man. I ain’t getting in front of people and doing that shit. Uh-uh---I can’t act.”

“Please, loco. You can help me keep an eye on my mom and we could see each other more without it looking too suspicious,” O’Reily tried to convince him by saying. “I mean---it would be a lot easier to pass notes or information during practice than how we’ve been doing it.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said after a momentary silence fell between them.

“Well, don’t think too hard.”

“Is that an order?”

“Maybe it is,” the Irishman said because they both knew where the conversation was suddenly headed. “What just happened---it doesn’t put you in charge.”

“It doesn’t put you in charge, either.”

“Okay, look---we can work that shit out later,” O’Reily said because their time had run out. “I’m asking you to join the play.”

“If there are parts without acting, I’ll sign up.”

 

 **Redding was still** mourning Hill’s death so he did not care what was happening in the cafeteria and the homeboys were without a leader. O’Reily had seized the opportunity to his advantage and got back on delivery duty so he could see his brother on death row. He had to get away from the kitchen because it had become a zoo since Redding abandoned it. He saw that some of the homeboys were taking orders from the jester Poet. He was not a leader and it was impossible for O’Reily to take him seriously when he tried to give orders.

As he walked all around the cellblock to deliver lunch, his mind was on what he had done to prove his loyalty to Alvarez. Oz had finally broken him---he did something he had never thought he would. Alvarez’s sultry voice and encouragement stuck inside his head, though. The man fucking nonchalantly dripped sex appeal and sensuality. O’Reily had been caught up yesterday and did not know what to think today---when his mind was clearer. He rolled the cart into death row.

“Hey, Cyril. We’re meeting your new lawyer today,” he said as he delivered lunch to his brother. “Some big hotshot that Meehan found.”

“Can I come with you now?” Cyril asked.

“No, not yet---but soon, all right?”

“You sound awful optimistic there, O’Reily,” Keller said from the cell behind him.

“I’m trying, Keller, but optimism isn’t exactly my---what’s the word I’m looking for? Forte.”

“Yo---can I get some fucking food?” Hoyt said.

The Irishman walked over and dropped the tray in front of him and said, “Eat that, you hairy bitch.”

“Hey, everyone,” the hack Lopresti said as he walked in with a handcuffed Timmy Kirk. “Meet the new member of our clubhouse.”

“Kirk---you fucking cocksucker!” Hoyt yelled from his cell and tried to grab him through the bars. “You should be dead, you little fucking prick!”

“Don’t be angry, Jaz-man. It’s not your fault I’m alive. The truth is---I can’t die,” Kirk said with a sinister smile and he was placed inside his cell.

“Bullshit! Just give me another chance.”

“Won’t do any good. I can’t die.”

“Yeah---why is that, pumpkin?” Keller took notice of the conversation and asked.

Kirk smiled again and said, “Because, I am Satan---and Satan will never die.”

O’Reily looked at Kirk and figured he was going for the insanity plea. It was all an act to save his ass from death row. His only concern was getting Cyril as far away from this place as possible. They shook hands and he nodded as he went on his way back around the cellblock to pick up the trays. What Kirk said had stuck to him though. It seemed he himself believed that he was possessed by the devil. He was Irish, like O’Reily, but they had hardly ever done business because the man was not worth the effort or time. The little prick also drew too much attention to himself.

He sat in the quad and resisted the urge to look at Alvarez, who was sitting not too close by. There were stray looks here and there, but nothing too serious. O’Reily sat next to Meehan and watched him and Rebadow play a game of checkers. His mind was so full with Cyril’s legal problems, and now with Alvarez---at least they were back to being partners. O’Reily did not even notice when McManus began to address Em City about his mother’s plans of doing a play.

“We’re not looking for Denzel Washington here. The point is to give you a place to channel your emotions other than fighting or heroin, and not everyone has to be in front of the spotlight,” McManus said to them. “Suzanne needs a stage manager, lighting, props, scenery---the whole enchilada. So, I expect a strong representation from Em City. Get involved. Chucky, what about you?”

“Plays are for fags,” Pancamo replied.

“Miguel---Miguel. Come on, this is a chance to show everybody the new you.”

“No, I think I’d be a little embarrassed to be in front of people,” Alvarez honestly said.

“So---be a stage manager,” McManus came back with.

“What the fuck do they do?”

“Boss everyone else around.”

“Really? All right, I’m in,” the Latino agreed for himself and to also satisfy the favor O’Reily had asked of him.

“Okay, good. Hey, how about props?”

Their eyes met briefly and O’Reily let out a small smile as McManus motivated other inmates to sign up for anything else. He was like an auctioneer trying to fill every role and job for ‘Macbeth’. It had gone on for a while until McManus was satisfied with Em City’s contribution numbers. The hacks then led them to the cafeteria to get the first rehearsal started. Alvarez took a seat with Fitzgerald at the table that was set up in front of the stage and they listened to Poet recite lines.

“‘Here I have a pilot’s thumb, Wreck’d as homeward he did come.’” he read from the script.

“That was very good, Poet,” Fitzgerald encouraged.

“What the fuck am I saying?”

“You are telling your friends how you destroyed your enemy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Alight. So, in the real play, can I get a real thumb?” Poet stupidly asked as if it were possible.

“You got anybody in mind?” Stanton laughed and said.

“What’d you say, cumstain?” Poet said as he started to walk over to Stanton.

“What?”

“Hey---hey! Settle the fuck down!” Alvarez commanded to bring order back to the stage.

“How goes it, ma?” he heard O’Reily ask his mother when he came in.

“Well, if I can keep them from killing each other, I think I’ve got all my actors---except for Macbeth, so, I was thinking, Ryan,” she sweetly tried to get to him.

“Sorry.”

“Ryan, you’d be brilliant in the part.”

“I love you, ma, but uh-uh---no way,” he said.

“Oh---you got no balls, O’Whitey?” Alvarez teased him and laughed.

“I don’t see you strutting your stuff there, Pepé,” O’Reily came back with.

“Dick.”

Their eyes were on each other until Meehan spoke, “Oh, come on, Ryan---it could be fun. I did the part once at the C.Y.O. See now, ‘Stay, you imperfect speakers, and tell me more: By Sinel’s death I am Thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? The Thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and to be king, Stands not within the prospect of belief, Say from whence, You owe this strange intelligence, Speak, I charge you.’.”

“Father Meehan, that was excellent,” Fitzgerald clapped and complimented him. “How would you like to play Macbeth?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

O’Reily breathed a sigh of relief as the role of Macbeth was filled. There was no way he was getting up there and making a fool out of himself in front of the entire prison. Something behind the scenes was more his style---as was evident by the way he survived in Oz all these years. He kissed his mother goodbye because the session had wrapped and they all walked back to Em City because it was almost time for lights out. He listened as Meehan spoke to him on their way back to the pod.

Having Alvarez there was fun because they were able to hang out outside of the closets they had become used to. Even though they had to bicker and act like there was nothing between them, it was great having him around. O’Reily looked as Meehan was on his knees praying---again. They had already been closed in their pods for the nights and the lights would be shutting off soon. He could not remember the last time he had prayed like that. His childhood had fucked up so many things for both him and Cyril.

“Lights out! Nighty-night, boys,” Armstrong said as all the lights shut off.

“Amen,” Meehan finalized his prayers and said before he got up.

“Well, it’s about time.”

“Ah---the power of prayer is a wonderful thing, Ryan.”

“You know, when I was a kid, I’d bend my knees and ask God to stop dad from beating on us,” the Irishman sadly said. “God never answered his pager.”

“A prayer’s more than asking for something,” the disgraced priest said. “It centers you---gives you peace of mind. Pray with me.”

“No. I figure between you and Sister Pete and Aunt Brenda, I’m covered.”

“It would give me profound joy if some day, you would join me in prayer.”

“Well, it would give me profound joy to fuck an eighteen-year-old virgin, so save your lungs, okay, Father?” he crudely remarked though he was not sure why he did so.

“Naughty.”

The next day brought with it some hope because it was his first meeting with Cyril’s new lawyer. Armstrong called him out during TV time and he was walking over to the interview room to hear what strategies the lawyer had come up with to get his brother off death row. O’Reily did not want to get his hopes up, but he wanted there to be a chance that Cyril could be saved. He wanted to find that chance to save his brother because he was not going to end up as Carolyn did. That was not going to happen without a fight to the end.

“So, you’re the new lawyer?” O’Reily said when he entered the room.

“Arnold Zelman,” the man stood up with his hand stretched out.

“You want to explain to me why my brother is still sitting on death row? Eight months ago, the Supreme Court ruled that executing the mentally retarded was unconstitutional.”

“Each state has the right to determine for itself how retarded is defined,” Zelman explained the loophole. “Our assemblymen have been squabbling over a definition all this time. Yesterday, they finally managed to make an agreement.”

“Which is?”

“Well, basically to qualify as retarded, a person had to have demonstrated some sign of retardation before the age of eighteen.”

“Eighteen? Cyril wasn’t hit in the head until his late twenties,” O’Reily said.

“Well, that’s why he can still be executed.”

“Oh, fuck. All right, so what do we do next?”

The lawyer laid out a plan of action by saying, “Appeal Cyril’s conviction. At the first trial, the prosecution was able to make the case that Cyril’s attack on Li Chen was premeditated.”

“Yeah---but it wasn’t,” he reminded him.

“Well, in the appeal, we have to prove it wasn’t. I’m going to start by interviewing all if the witnesses.”

“Great,” O’Reily said sardonically. “Those fucks in Em City---they got no reason to help me.”

“All we need is one, Ryan.”

The meeting was over and he headed back to Em City, thinking about the lawyer’s last words. He had to conjure up a witness to corroborate the proper events of the story so that Cyril could be saved. His first thought was Alvarez, but it would have been an awkward position to put him in. Plus, it would have looked suspicious if the Latino had stepped forward now, after all this time had passed. O’Reily did not want any more hostility between them, so he kept that thought for last. On his way to his pod, he saw Shupe alone in the phone room across the quad and found his target. The man was going to have to lie to tell the truth.

“Hey, Shupe---you need a hand?” the Irishman said after he entered.

“Stay away from me!” Shupe was freaked out and frightened.

“Oh---why you so testy, man?”

“It’s because of you I’m like this.”

“Uh-uh, no way, not me---spics chopped you up,” O’Reily proclaimed his innocence and said.

“On your say so,” he said and then spoke into the phone. “Hello, mom.”

O’Reily quickly hung the phone up as he moved closer and said, “Whether I did or didn’t have anything to do with your, what’s the word I’m looking for there, Glen, disability, know this---a lawyer’s going to be coming around asking people questions about the day Li Chen got whacked. And, unless you want to be dialing with your nose, you’d best tell him what he wants to hear. You got that, you stupid bitch?”

A few hours had passed since he had threatened Shupe in the phone room and he waited to hear word of what was going to happen now that the man was going to tell the truth. He was on his way to Sister Pete’s office because that was where Zelman had asked the guard to bring him. O’Reily knew he had to play up the Shupe card because he was the only real witness that could make a dent in the prosecution’s case against Cyril. Doubt needed to be casted on Li Chen’s murder for him to get off death row.

“So, how’s it going interviewing the witnesses?” Fitzgerald asked.

“So far, not so good,” Zelman replied.

“What about Shupe?” O’Reily said.

“He’s not very credible.”

“Shupe is a compulsive liar,” Sister Pete told him.

“The irony is that, this time, he’s telling the truth,” the lawyer sighed and said.

“Well then, use him,” the Irishman encouraged.

“If I put Shupe on the stand, the jury won’t believe a word he’s saying. He’ll do more damage than good.”

“So, you’ll find a credible witness,” his mother said.

“I hope,” Zelman said. “I’m down to my last few guys.”

“So now, more rallies, more op-ed pieces?”

“Turn up the heat---press the public to show. I’ll use my contacts to network.”

Plans were crumbling around him and O’Reily was not used to it. It was not supposed to be this way---Cyril’s life was hanging on by a thread and it was not the time for his plans to be falling apart or backfiring on him. He was frustrated when he left the nun’s office and headed to the gym to blow off some steam. He had to get his mind away from all his mounting problems. O’Reily had come to be so protective and defensive of his brother---if he were no longer there, it would destroy him. He punched the bag with his naked hands but stopped when he noticed that Peter Schibetta was approaching him.

“Hey, Petey, you out of the psych unit?” the Irishman said. “Did you work out all your inner demons?”

“I heard something from a very reliable source yesterday, O’Reily.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you hear?”

Schibetta looked at him and said in a calm voice, “That you ground up glass and put it in my father’s food---cut his insides up slowly. You’re responsible for my father being dead.”

“Well, what you heard is true, except for one little detail,” O’Reily decided to mess with his head. “Adebisi did the deed. It wasn’t me. I was your father’s friend. Hey, who’s your reliable source, huh---some nut-job from the whack shack?”

“Never mind. I tell you who he is, he’s dead,” Schibetta said.

“Fair enough. But, what if what you say is true---which it isn’t? What the fuck’s a little prag like you going to do about it, anyhow, huh? Now, back the fuck away from me---you stink like anchovies.”

O’Reily realized he was being a little hypocritical calling Schibetta a prag, since he had willingly sucked Alvarez’s dick. That was something different, though. The crestfallen Italian backed away at the comment---the word especially. There was something in his eyes, but he was no threat to anyone so O’Reily brushed it off and looked at the clock. It was almost time to start rehearsals for the play again. He went back to punching the bag because Schibetta had wrecked his flow of adrenaline as well as his elevated heart rate.

There was no way he was ever going to be a prag---that was the lowest title in Oz and those who had no power. No one took Schibetta seriously or feared him anymore because he was raped twice. O’Reily was never going to let anyone get anywhere near his ass. He was confused about what he was doing with the Latino, but there was no doubt in his mind when it came to sex---it was not going to happen. He grabbed a face towel and wiped his face and arms before he left and headed to the cafeteria for rehearsal.

It was well under way when he arrived and Alvarez grinned at him when he entered and he did the same back. In a strange way, he exuded even more power and confidence as he ordered people around as the stage manager---it was a weird turn on. Alvarez had taken control of the rehearsal and was making sure everything ran smoothly. O’Reily walked back behind the stage curtain because he was in charge of painting the sets. It was better than being on stage---he did not want the attention to be on him like that.

“‘A drum, a drum. Macbeth doth come.’” Stanton acted out.

“‘The Weird Sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about: Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace---the charm’s wound up.’” Stanton, Poet, and Guerra recited together.

“‘So foul and fair a day I have not seen.’” Meehan said to them.

“‘How far is’t call’d to Forres?’” Busmalis read.

“All right, shut up!” Alvarez commanded the attention once again. “Time’s up.”

“But I barely got a line out,” Busmalis said.

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, Agamemnon,” Fitzgerald told him.

“Here comes another volunteer,” Meehan said to her. “Mr. Peter Schibetta.”

“Great. Hello, Peter.”

“Hi,” the Italian said as he looked around.

“Ryan could use some help painting the scenery,” Fitzgerald said and they both looked in his direction.

“No, I don’t need any help---especially his,” O’Reily coldly said.

“You know, I seen this play in high school,” Schibetta jumped up on the stage and walked over to where O’Reily was painting. “It’s got all those incantations. We Sicilians, we have our own version---our own spells. The Evil Eye. My wife’s grandmother---she can give somebody the evil eye from a mile away. I’m not saying the stuff works, but who knows, right?”

“I thought I told you to back the fuck away!”

“No problem, cuz. No problem,” he replied with a smug smile.

Neither had noticed that Alvarez was looking at them the whole time, but he was too far away to hear any of the actual conversation. He was going to have to ask O’Reily about it later---if Schibetta was going to become a problem, he would be handled like the rest of them. The Irishman entered his pod and decided to get some laundry done because he was running low on clean clothes to wear. Meehan wanted to accompany him so they went together. He knew the man had something on his mind but he did not want to ask anything on his own.

“Ah, Ryan. Look, I know you’ve done things you’re not particularly proud of, but---sometimes we talk things through,” the disgraced priest said to him.

“Skip the preamble, Father. What’s on your mind?”

“All right. Peter Schibetta. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other---the hostility.”

“Schibetta’s a cornhole,” O’Reily said insensitively.

“For God’s sake, Ryan. Will you knock off this bravado? This---this bullshit, just for a moment,” Meehan firmly said. “I know you think you have to be hard to survive here, but there are other ways. I’ve seen you with your brother---there’s love, there’s caring. There’s goodness in you. Will you let that goodness rise, and be the man that God meant you to be?”

“How, Father?” he was not sure why he said it, but a part of him was interested.

“I’ll help you---and, we’ll start with your laundry. Now, you think you’d know by now that if you don’t separate the laundry, the colors will bleed.”

O’Reily really wondered if he could live the kind of life Meehan had wanted him to live---wanted for him. His bravado and being hard and tough was all he had known since being a kid and having his father beat on him. He had to protect himself and Cyril since before he had even gotten his first kiss. It was all he knew. He watched as Meehan separated the white clothes from the colored ones and put them into separate machines as they spoke about the kind of man God wanted him to be. Meehan excused himself to go to the pod but promised they would continue the conversation later. 

He knew his survival rate in Oz would severely diminish if he were to take a more passive approach to survival in here. He had made too many enemies and betrayed too many people over the years. O’Reily started folding freshly dried clothes as he thought about it. He had worked so hard for so long to build up his reputation as a force to be reckoned with and destroying that now would surely mean his death. Most of the fucks here wanted him dead because they were either afraid of him or could not control him. The laundry was finished and he walked back to the pod.

“Oh, Christ!” O’Reily exclaimed as he opened the door and found Meehan on the floor. “Father! Oh, God---Father! Father, what’s the matter? Father! Father! Shit! Help! Help! Help! Come here---help! Help!”

He started banging on the wall of his pod to get the hacks attention. Armstrong came running over with two more officers as the examined the scene and body while O’Reily looked on with an eerie pain inside his heart. Somewhere inside, he had already known the inevitable when they carried Meehan off to the hospital ward. He did not know what the hell had happened and looked around the pod, but there was nothing. There was no blood or pills or drugs---only shit on the floor from where Meehan’s body was.

The quad was quiet to him as he was enveloped inside his mind replaying the last conversation they had. Meehan had wanted something better for him---something better for Cyril. But, in Oz, there was nothing better and death was promised much sooner than it should have been. O’Reily got word that Sister Pete wanted to see him so he was let out to go to her office. He listened to her babble about death and God’s will until Dr. Nathan entered the office and looked at each of them.

“How is he?” the nun asked.

“Father Meehan’s dead,” she replied.

“Oh, fuck!” O’Reily said.

“An aneurysm. He died almost immediately,” Dr. Nathan offered the culprit.

“How did it happen?” he asked.

“Who knows. I mean, we’ll do an autopsy, try and figure out the cause, but---”

“But, he’s still dead, right?”

“And yet, of all the ways he could have died in Oz, God chose the most peaceful,” Sister Pete said to them both.

“Yeah, right,” O’Reily said. “You know, when I found Father Meehan lying on the floor, he’d taken a shit in his underwear. So, what does that tell you about us human beings? The last thing we do before we die is shit?”

“Ryan, have some respect for the man,” she scolded him.

“I do! You know, a couple of Sundays ago at mass, he read the part of the gospel where after Jesus was pulled off the cross, his friends took the body down and they washed it. I’d like to do that. I’d like to wash Father Meehan’s body.”

“Ah---I don’t know,” Dr. Nathan was hesitant.

“Please,” the Irishman almost sounded desperate as he said it. “He wanted me to pray with him but, I never did---despite all that he tried to do for me and Cyril. I owe the man this much---please.”

Dr. Nathan looked at him with uncertainty but her soft spot for him overrode that and she agreed. He borrowed a bible from Sister Pete and followed her out of the office and to where the body was in the infirmary. O’Reily had to do this because Meehan was one of the few people that had believed there was still good in him. No matter all the shit or deaths he had caused inside Oz, Meehan had still thought he could change and had been worthy of God’s love. O’Reily began washing the body with a sponge as he read a passage from the bible. It was his first and final prayer to the man.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **It was mainly quiet, with** the exception of O’Reily’s voice, as he sat against the wall in the janitor’s closet by the AIDS ward and listened to him talk. This was different contact---it had nothing to do with touching. The Irishman was shaken by Meehan’s death and Alvarez knew he had been questioning himself as to why it had happened. He had spoken about memories and conversations they had and how he had been fighting to get Cyril’s case overturned. Alvarez wanted to give him a hug to offer some kind of comfort but resisted because he was not sure if it was the right time to be doing so.

The Latino had found himself being even more drawn to the man since they had started rehearsals for the play together. He saw how O’Reily was with his mother---had seen him smile and laugh more when he was with her than he had ever done in his entire stay in Oz. They truly cared for one another and Alvarez was a little jealous that he was able to spend so much time with his mother. In a short amount of time, he and Meehan had become very close so the man’s death had to be affecting him more than he had thought it would.

“He believed there was good---some good in me,” O’Reily just talked. “After all the shit I’ve done in here, he still believed my soul was worthy of God, you know?”

“I know how that feels, papa. Mukada believes that about me and sometimes, it was the only thing that kept me alive when I was locked away in Solitary, you know,” he said because he knew the exact feeling. “It feels good when someone believes that about you---especially in a place like this, you know?”

“Yeah. I should’ve done more---listened more.”

“What more could you have done, Ryan?” Alvarez asked him. “It was his time.”

“I should’ve prayed with him. He wanted me to---kept asking me to.”

“You blame yourself---for his death? You do, don’t you?”

O’Reily looked away because he felt uncomfortable, but said, “No---not anymore. The best you can hope for in Oz is a peaceful death.”

“And he got that, víbora. No one touched him.”

“They wouldn’t be breathing right now if they did.”

He had that gleam in his eyes that Alvarez knew all too well and pitied anyone who was on the receiving end of those flaring green pools. The man got intense and even more dangerous when it came to the people he cared about. He wondered if O’Reily would get that defensive and protective over him---if he felt that way. Silence fell into the room as they both sat in the corner. It was a less awkward silence and a more comfortable one. They were becoming more comfortable with one another.

“You know, this is how I thought we were going to prove our trust to each other---by talking about stuff that no one else knew about,” Alvarez said what was on his mind. “I didn’t think---”

“I know,” O’Reily cut him off and said. “I got desperate because I hate fucking losing. I need a strong ally on my side I know I can trust. The other fucks in here are starting to lose my interest.”

“What’s going to happen when---when you lose interest in me?”

“Haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

“Fuck you!” the Latino said and wanted to get up to leave. “I fucking told you I’m not one of your goddamn pieces. You can’t move me how you want and then get rid of me if I stop being useful.”

“Relax, all right. Geez---can’t you take a joke?”

“It wasn’t fucking funny! I’m sick of people thinking they can use me and then get rid of me whenever they want.”

“You’re not expendable, Miguel. Not to me,” the Irishman said when their eyes met. “I’m not going to treat you the way Hernandez or Morales did. I already told you---those cocksuckers had no idea of how valuable you are. Look at all the shit we’ve done and this is only the beginning of our partnership. We could run Oz if we wanted, loco.”

“That’s not what we want, though. It’s not what I want, you know. Did something change for you?”

“No---hell no!” O’Reily said and was sure. “I don’t need that fucking huge ass target on me. We could---that’s what I was saying.”

“We equal, right?” Alvarez seriously asked because lines had to be drawn in the sand now before anything went further. “None of this pulling rank bullshit or, you know, mind-fucking between us, right?”

“Alvarez, I got on my goddamn knees for you. What the hell do you think?”

The words tasted awful as they slipped out from his tongue, but he had to say them to make sure they both knew exactly where they stood with each other in the partnership. It was an equal partnership because they both had the same amount to contribute. Alvarez got a look on his face at the comment and he looked as uncomfortable as O’Reily had been when he was on his knees with the man’s dick in his mouth. Sucking his dick had not been entirely unpleasant---talking about it was, though. It was always awkward when they talked about the closeness that was forming between them.

“I didn’t want it to happen that way, you know?” Alvarez said.

“But, you---you wanted it to happen, right?” he asked, almost as if he was searching and hated that he needed confirmation.

“You were down there,” the Latino smirked sexily. “You tell me if I wanted it to happen or not.”

“Shut up!”

“Now who can’t take a joke?”

“That’s not what I meant. Don’t make me fucking spell it out,” O’Reily did not want to express himself properly.

“Wouldn’t want you risking your manhood there, O’Reily. Even though it’s all in your head.”

“Don’t lecture me,” he warned.

“I went along because I wanted it to happen,” Alvarez said to him. “It wouldn’t happen if I didn’t want it to.”

“All right, then. Same here.”

The look in each of their eyes said that both men wanted to say more on the subject but something was stopping them from doing so. Expressing feeling and emotions internally was one thing---it was a completely different one to talk to someone else about it, however. The Latino looked on and knew he had to change the subject because this one had become too deep for either of them to be comfortable with. There were lingering feelings about the word ‘fag’. Maddening thoughts of how far there were going to push boundaries. It constantly kept each of them on edge. It was too difficult to discuss or even create the idea that maybe real feelings were starting to form themselves. That cannot be an option---especially not in Oz.

“What the fuck is going on with that prick Schibetta?” Alvarez asked to lighten the mood somewhat. “I see him eyeing you at rehearsals.”

“Oh shit, I forgot. I need you to do something for me.”

“Dealing with him---what?”

“Go to Chucky Pancamo and tell him you heard Schibetta is giving him the evil eye---putting a curse on him,” O’Reily told him.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I don’t have time to explain now---I have to get to the kitchen for lunch. When you see Pancamo, give him the message.”

“Hey,” Alvarez stopped him before he went to open the door to leave. “Hey, you’re going to be okay---with his death, I mean.”

“Yeah. It’s good I got it out now. Can’t appear weak out there.”

“So, I was your outlet, then?”

“I’m yours too, loco,” O’Reily said back.

It was true. He always felt better after he spoke to Alvarez and imagined it was the same vice versa. O’Reily went in for a quick kiss and then left the storage room behind to get to the kitchen in time. Things were evolving between them as time went on and the partnership continued. Alvarez had tried to leave it at that, but it was obvious that there was something between them. He still had to play it safe and watch his own back because he knew the víbora was capable of anything---as was he.

The Latino passed through the lunch line without so much as a look to O’Reily---there had been enough of that earlier when they had been alone together. He still tasted those lips on his though. Since coming back from Solitary and separating himself from El Norte, Alvarez felt some kind of peace in his life for the first time in a long time. It was odd that he felt that way in Oz, but he did---and he was not sure if it was because of Ryan O’Reily. That was crazy, though.

“Man, I wish to Christ I could figure out what Redding is up to,” Morales said as he looked over at Redding.

“Rumor is he’s walking away from the kitchen---that he’s going to be foreman of the telemarketing business,” Guerra said.

“That don’t mean he’ll stop slinging. And, what we need is more information,” the leader of El Norte said and noticed Alvarez walking past them. “Alvarez, join us.”

“You want me to sit with you?” Alvarez asked.

“Yeah. I figure, you and Guerra made peace, you won’t be stabbing each other with the silverware. Besides, I got a question.”

“Nine inches, baby,” he made the crude but true remark.

“You friendly with any of the niggers?” Morales ignored it and asked.

“No. Poet a little, maybe.”

“Yeah---he knows you and us have been at war. I want you to talk to him, find out what Redding’s real plans are.”

“Spy?”

“Well, yeah,” Morales said.

“I ain’t hungry anymore,” Alvarez said as he pushed his tray forward and got up from the table.

“Do this, Miguel---we’ll welcome you back into El Norte.”

“You know, I’m---I’m glad me and Chico aren’t at each other’s throats anymore, but that’s as far as it goes, man. I got my parole in three years. Until then, I’m Mahatma fucking Gandhi. You want the peach cobbler?” he questioned before he walked away.

There was no way he was getting involved with those backstabbers again. They may have the same skin, but Morales only wanted him to be a subservient lapdog like Guerra was. And, Alvarez was serious about trying to make his parole this time. Oz was not going to take any more of his life away. He waited by himself until lunch was over and headed back to Em City with the rest of them. He did not want to be in a public alliance, so the partnership with O’Reily was perfect. He was going to have to play the game more like the Irishman---not get his hands dirty as much while still getting shit done.

Hours had passed and he was sitting in the quad watching TV as he thought about the nerve Morales had to approach him like that. He didn’t give a fuck about El Norte or the homeboys anymore---they could all kill each other for all he cared. Alvarez was not going to be his pawn to use against Redding. That was a dangerous spot to be in, even if Redding had been off his game lately. A hack told him he had a visitor so he headed out to the visitor’s room to see who it was.

“Miguelito---you look great,” his mother Carmen greeted upon his entrance.

“Yeah, and you look really young,” Alvarez replied as they hugged. “What’s up with the visit after all this time?”

“Do I need more of a reason than you’re my son?”

“Yeah. It didn’t matter much before, did it?” he coldly replied.

“Well, maybe I haven’t been here because you’re always in Solitary or in the hole or escaping and not even coming to see me,” his mother said with a twinge of hurt in her voice. “When would I have a chance to visit, huh?”

“You just came here to make my life more fucked up, right? Thank you.”

“Be Mr. Macho Muchacho all you want, but, if you’re so tough, think what that says about the bitch that bore you.”

“You are a tough bitch. Yeah,” Alvarez told his mother. “You do bore me. Okay, I’m glad you came. You know, when I escaped, I didn’t come to see you because I thought that’d be the first place the cops would look.”

“It was,” Carmen reaffirmed her son’s thinking.

“How’s Maritza doing?”

“She’s wonderful.”

“She fucking anybody?” he had to know, even though he was being a bit hypocritical about it.

“She’s working as a travel agent---sending people to Europe, Japan, Australia.”

“Ma, I asked you a question.”

“I speak to her once, maybe twice a month. I don’t think she is,” she said.

“You tell her that she got to come visit me.”

“That would mean a lot more coming from you,” Carmen made the point.

“I ain’t going to ask---I aint going to beg. She should just show up,” Alvarez replied, even though it made no sense.

Carmen left shortly after and had given him a lot to think about. He did not want to beg her to come to Oz, but he wanted her there. She was his last link to the outside world. Things with O’Reily were confusing---it felt good, mostly, but it was all confusing. Alvarez never imagined that he would share the kind of closeness he shared only with women with another man. He thought that maybe it was the desperation of Oz. He needed to talk to Maritza, to see her. Alvarez thought about everything that his mother had said as he headed back and immediately went to the phone room to make a call.

“Shit,” he cursed as the phone kept ringing.

“Hey, it’s Maritza. I’m not home, so please leave a message,” an answering machine greeted him.

“Hey, Ritz. Thinking about you a lot lately,” Alvarez spoke to the machine. “Ma told me how good you were doing, you know, sending people all over the world and stuff. You know, I hope you don’t forget that I’m still a part of yours because, baby, you’re still most of mine. I know that I haven’t been the best, you know, of anything the last couple of years, but if, um---you could use some of that travel agent, you know, magic to arrange for a car, go to Oz, damn, I’d make that trip worthwhile, I promise. All right. I love you---and, I miss you, Maritza. Yeah, I really do. Please come. Yeah---please come.”

The phone went back to the receiver and he put all his emotions away to leave the phone room behind. No one was in there when he left the heartfelt message so it was safe. Alvarez walked back out to the quad and saw O’Reily’s eyes on him. He smiled a little but did not bother to keep the gaze for too long. The Latino headed back up to his pod but was sidetracked when he saw a few members sitting on the table outside of Pancamo’s cell. The man himself was there too and Alvarez walked over to get Schibetta off his partner’s back.

“Yo, Pancamo, I need a word,” the Latino said when he approached the group.

“We got business, spic? No,” the Italian leader asked and answered his own question. “Get on.”

“You’ll want to hear what I have to say, chica.”

“What the fuck you call me?” Pancamo said as he quickly stood up. “You starting some shit, Alvarez? You ain’t under Morales’s protection anymore. Think before you speak, motherfucker!”

“Hey---I’m here to offer information to you,” Alvarez played it cool. “Something I heard---overheard.”

“Morales know you over here?”

“Don’t care if he does. I ain’t one of his boys anymore. He don’t concern me.”

“Big words, Alvarez,” he said. “Maybe you got some balls after all.”

“It ain’t maybe.”

“Say what you got to and get on.”

“I was in the gym yesterday and heard Schibetta talking about the Italians--specifically, you,” Alvarez expertly planted the seed and he knew the víbora would be proud. “Said some shit about curses and putting the evil eye on you.”

“Did he now?”

“I don’t know what the hell it means and we all know old Petey hasn’t been the same since Adebisi and Schillinger stuck it to him, but he sounded serious.”

Pancamo looked him up and down and said, “What the fuck you getting by telling me this shit, huh?”

“Dick, man. I’m solo in this piece---don’t owe these fucks anything either way. But, I know that evil eye bullshit is serious to you guys.”

“How you know that?”

“It don’t take a genius to figure out,” the Latino said. “Evil and eye don’t belong in the same sentence.”

“Yeah---it don’t. Because we all know your ass has too many screws loose to be a genius.”

“It’s all right, man. Be cool.”

Alvarez smirked and walked away, particularly proud of the job he had done. Pancamo talked a big game to him, but the fear was already there in his eyes about curses and the evil eye. He knew all the Italians’ eyes were on him as he walked back to the pod but it did not matter---the job was done. The Latino returned to his cell and went onto his bed as he thought about the message he left Maritza. In all the time she had been out of prison, she had never come to visit him. His mother was right, though---visiting him was difficult because he had been in and out of Solitary so much over the past years. But still, she should have made an effort. They lost a child together.

 

 **It was a** few days later and O’Reily was in a bad mood because the warden was not allowing him to see Cyril. There was no news on the appeal and he was starting to get frustrated and angry that his brother was still sitting on death row. He was on a bench in the gym lifting weights to free up at least some of his mind. It was easier said than done though because all the thoughts in his head wanted to engulf him---drown him and wash him away. It had become easier to wonder what that would feel like.

“Hey, O’Reily, I heard your pal Father Meehan crashed and burned,” Schibetta said in a vile tone. “That must be tearing you up inside, huh?”

“Yeah---he was a good man.”

“Yeah. Well, I guess now you got a little taste of what it felt like when you murdered my father.”

“We’re done talking, bitch,” the Irishman said dismissively.

“Oh, okay. I was just wondering how you’re going to feel when Cyril dies,” he kept dangerously provoking the viper.

“We’re appealing Cyril’s case.”

“And, your ma.”

“What?”

“Your ma.”

O’Reily bolted up to his face and warned, “You go anywhere my mother, I’ll fucking skin you alive.”

“I don’t have to touch her. I got the evil eye, remember?” Schibetta still sounded crazy as he said.

“Yeah---whatever,” he backed off and looked away because the conversation was boring him.

“Okay---that’s what killed Meehan, you know. My wife’s grandmother put the evil eye on the fat fuck and he was dead within hours.”

“You know, Schibetta, you really do belong in the psych, man. You’re fucking nuts.”

“Meehan gave me his rosary,” he continued to talk. “That’s all you need---a possession of the person you want cursed. I gave the rosary to my wife to give to her nana---arrivederci, Meehan. I’m going to put the curse on every single person you love, and when you can’t stand the grief one more second, I’m going to put it on you, and I’ll be smiling when you’re twisting in your own shit.”

“Hey, you fucking dago! You motherfucker! Fuckin---” O’Reily yelled and started to approach him again but saw a guard walking closer so he calmed himself down. “It’s okay, man. Momentary lapse.”

“Yeah?” the hack responded.

“Yeah,” the Irishman said back.

“Okay, come on. Let’s take them down.”

He put the weights back in their spot and gave Schibetta one last look before leaving the gym with the officer to go back to Em City. Now was the time to water the seed that Alvarez had already planted for him. Since neither of them were connected or allied with one another to the outside world, Pancamo had to believe him when he told him about Schibetta and the evil eye business. As usual, the Italians were sitting at the same table upstairs when O’Reily walked up to them.

“Hey, Chucky, you got a minute?” he said.

“For you, O’Reily, I got only twenty-eight seconds,” the Italian leader said. “But the way you doubletalk, it should be plenty.”

“Peter Schibetta. He’s walking around saying he can put curses on people.”

“The evil eye---sure,” Pancamo said and became more interested in the conversation.

“Well, he says that his wife’s grandmother---she’s got the power.”

“Petey’s got two screws loose.”

“Oh, man---I feel a lot better hearing that,” O’Reily feigned worry. “Because, um, not only did he say that he put a curse on me---he said he put a curse on you. Yeah, that’s what he said. I think he still blames you for him taking it up the ass---twice.”

“That fucking little prick,” the sucker fell right into the plan.

“Maybe you should go talk to Peter, huh?”

“Yeah, maybe I should.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

O’Reily left the group and went down to his pod, laughing on the inside at how easy that was. The Latino had to have worked him over pretty damn good because as soon as he said evil eye, Pancamo’s eyes clenched up as if he was in some kind of danger. Again, Alvarez had proven himself a valuable asset---and that he had a knack for mind-fucking as well. He certainly was already way ahead of most of the other scumfucks in here. O’Reily had to admit that the man impressed him yet again.

They were all at practice and he was busy painting the scenery as Alvarez controlled the room with his voice and firm hand. It was sexy what a little power and confidence did for him. O’Reily had caught himself staring more than he should have and, each time, he had shaken his head and mentally reprimanded himself for having such thoughts. Practice was almost over and Schibetta had been on his best behavior throughout the entire rehearsal. They had not spoken more than two words to each other---it was the opposite of what had happened in the gym between them earlier.

“You see, when you say ‘screw your courage to the sticking place,’ what you’re saying is to have some balls---keep on track,” Fitzgerald coached.

“Oh. ‘But screw your courage to the sticking place. And will not fail.’” Stein repeated after he took in the criticism.

“Good.”

“Then I explain the murder plan?”

“Right,” she said.

“All right, that’s it,” Alvarez commanded attention in his loud voice as he said. “We start up again tomorrow at three.”

“All right, thank you very much---we’ll see you later,” Fitzgerald said to the inmates.

“Suzanne, I’ve got to tell you, I’m having the best time,” Schibetta falsely stated. “I’ve got to go meet my wife right now, but I can’t wait to tell her all about you.”

“Thanks. We’ll see you later.”

“Hey, have you heard from the lawyer about the exact date of Cyril’s appeal?” O’Reily stepped down from the stage and asked his mother.

“Well, all Zelman said was sometime this week,” she said as she rummaged through her purse. “Damn.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t find my car keys.”

“What?”

“Yeah---I was sure I left them right here,” Fitzgerald looked a bit confused and said.

“Oh Christ, mom---I bet Schibetta stole them. He’s going to put a curse on you. I got---I got to go,” he said in a panicked tone.

“Oh, Ryan.”

“No, I got to go,” the Irishman said as he ran to the gate.

“Slow down, O’Reily,” the guard ordered him.

“No---I got an emergency!”

“What emergency?” the hack asked.

“I can’t explain it---just let me go.”

“You ain’t going anywhere.”

“Fuck!”

He was trapped and was growing more frantic by the minute. If what Schibetta had said about Meehan was true, his mother was going to be next. But, he could not explain himself to anyone without looking like he needed to be committed to the psych ward as well. They all walked back to Em City and Alvarez slipped his arm across his shoulder for a short while when he was positive no one was looking. O’Reily welcomed the touch, and the distraction to his mind, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. His mind was a jumbled mess.

“Lockdown! Lockdown!” Murphy yelled upon their arrival in Em City.

“What the fuck is going on, man?” O’Reily asked, but was ignored.

“O’Reily. Catch,” Pancamo called out to him amidst the madness of inmates being rushed to their pods.

He threw a small bunch of keys and the Irishman immediately caught it and smiled to himself because the deed had been completed. The reason for the lockdown was now apparent and he gladly entered his pod to wait it out because Schibetta was dead---he and his evil eye were no more. Pancamo and his boys had wasted no time to airhole the little bastard. All pod doors were sealed shut and the buzzers stopped ringing as O’Reily went to his door with the keys still in his hands. He looked across the pod and up to the second floor to see that Alvarez was looking down at him and had that sexy grin plastered on his sexy lips. Only a momentary piece of pleasure could be afforded.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **Something was going on with** Maritza---he knew it. He had called again and left another message on her machine but there was no response. No letters or no visits. Alvarez was upset, but felt more hurt because he knew he still loved her---still wanted to be close to her. But, his attempts to get her to Oz had failed and he knew she was avoiding him for some reason. He was starting to lose touch with her and that was what hurt the most.

Alvarez remembered the first time he had seen her around the neighborhood as he sat in his pod and thought about her. She had been wearing a pair of short jeans that had hugged her curves in all the right places. She was in the neighborhood visiting her cousin. He was outside washing his car---wet and with his shirt off. When their eyes had connected the first time, the Latino knew that he wanted to fuck her. Maritza had stood no chance because he was so fucking handsome and had a bad boy swagger about him. Three days later, she had come back to the neighborhood and they had fucked that night---three times.

That was the memory that had given him so much comfort when he was locked away in Oz---in Solitary. But, it had started to haunt him. Alvarez had fallen in love with her during that first night of sex. She was a bombshell that every fuck in neighborhood wanted to mess with, but he had her. Everyone had known she was his and no one had dared make a move on her. Now, their connection was diminishing and fading away as the walls of Oz only seemed to get thicker.

Then there was their perfect baby boy. Even in this shithole, the Latino had said a prayer every night since his death for his fallen son---his blood. Even in those lonely and disturbed nights in Solitary or the hole, he had never allowed himself to forget to say the prayer to guide his son’s pure soul into God’s awaiting arms and keep it there. Alvarez knew that nothing he did was going to bring his son back, but he still had to protect him because his instincts as a father had awoken once he had held the newborn in his arms at the hospital. They were among some of the strongest instincts he had.

He had to get out of the pod and outside his head because it was all depressing him. He walked out and headed down to the quad to give himself some space to breathe. Maritza was burned into his mind and her not responding to his advances was really bothering him. Alvarez had to make parole so he could start his life over. He was not going to rot in here for the rest of his life. He saw Rebadow sitting by himself and remembered an interesting rumor he had heard.

“Hey, Rebadow,” Alvarez said as he sat. “Heard you were in the library checking out more than just books.”

“I don’t really care to dignify that with a response,” the old man said.

“Chill, man. I’m just a little jealous, you know? You got your old lady on the payroll, right? I call mine twice---she won’t even so much as fart my way.”

“You and Busmalis should switch places,” Rebadow said. “His girl keeps showing up, but he won’t see her.”

“Well, shit, let me know the next time she comes by. Shit, I’ll visit anything in a skirt, man,” Alvarez said.

“Norma’s here today. For some reason, she asked for me.”

“Well, shit, share the love. Share the love. Damn.”

Rebadow ignored him as got up from the table and walked over to his pod. Alvarez was not sure of the whole story behind Busmalis and Norma and he did not care to know it. But, if the girl wanted to see him that badly, he should not deny her. If only Maritza had that kind of enthusiasm about visiting him. Alvarez felt himself slipping back into his thoughts when someone else sat in the chair Rebadow had just vacated moments earlier. Those green eyes flashed onto his.

“Let’s play a game,” O’Reily said as he opened a box to retrieve the pieces. “Checkers or chess, Alvarez?”

“Chess,” he responded as he looked back at him.

“Fuck---had to pick the hard one. I suck at this game.”

“I’ll let you be white then. They go first.”

“You’re too kind,” O’Reily sneered and distributed the pieces.

“That’s me, víbora, you know. Kind-hearted Alvarez.”

“I’m sure. Today’s rehearsal is cancelled. My mom has some appeal to go to for Cyril.”

“By the AIDS ward again?” Alvarez questioned as the game got under way and nothing looked out of the ordinary between them.

“Yeah.”

Only one game had taken place before O’Reily left him alone. It was hard being close like that and not being able to talk about anything real. He was alone again and waited for the time when they were able to talk more openly and privately with one another. Alvarez stored the chess pieces back into the wooden box and gave it to a hack as he made his way back to his pod. The loneliness was starting to corner him.

After lunch, the guard lost track of him and he headed towards the AIDS ward to get to the closet. Maritza was still a prominent force in his mind and he had not said anything to anyone since the game of chess with O’Reily earlier. The three years waiting for his next parole hearing was going to be torture. And, it was becoming increasingly clear that Morales wanted to rope control over him again. El Norte was not the name it used to be and he wanted no part of that sinking ship. He entered the room and closed the door behind him. The Irishman was already there.

“You were supposed to take it easy on me in chess, loco,” O’Reily said and laughed.

“I gave you white,” he said back.

“Well, I guess I can take the loss. Chess is too damn complicated for me.”

“You have no choice,” Alvarez said as he walked over to the corner and sat down on the ground.

“Why you looking so depressed?”

“I’m not.”

“Uh---yeah, you are,” he said as he looked down at him. “I saw you walking around Em City today with this long face, and, during the game, too. The same face you have now.”

“It’s nothing. Sit.”

O’Reily eyed him because he knew something was going on. In all the time they had been partners, they had gotten to know some things about each other---whether willingly or not. Alvarez was a passionate man, but he got extremely quiet and limited his words as much as he could when something was truly bothering him. It was one of those involuntary things he did---maybe he knew but just didn’t care. Either way, he was pouting about something and had been at least since this morning. O’Reily slid down onto the floor next to him.

“What’s going on, Miguel?” he asked again. “Okay, I know you’re hung up on something.”

The Latino sighed and said, “Fucking---Maritza, man. She’s acting like a damn bitch.”

“Why---what happened? What’d she say?”

“Shit---she hasn’t said shit because she never picks up the fucking phone when I call!”

“Oh. The months leading up to our divorce, Shannon wasn’t taking any of my calls either,” O’Reily said. “Always got her fucking machine.”

“She never visits me. I know she’s fucking someone else,” Alvarez said bitterly. “She probably just doesn’t want to tell me---thinking maybe I’ll forget about her.”

“Maybe you will.”

“How the fuck? I love her.”

“If she’s fucking someone else, then you got to go,” the Irishman said.

“I don’t know for sure if she is, and---where the hell am I going to go?”

“I knew Shannon wasn’t being faithful, so I had to cut her loose. I wasn’t about to have her sleeping around and then come and tell me that she loves me. Fuck that bullshit!”

“If she is fucking around, I’ll kill her,” he said in a serious way.

“Whoa there, loco. Just leave the bitch in the dust.”

It was obvious he was hurting and feeling rejected as he stared at the floor in front of them and thought about the last words that still clung to the air. O’Reily wanted to say something more positive and comforting but it was not his strong suit. Alvarez was in pain, though. Those expressive eyes of his tried their best to hide it but a sliver was still visible. It was yet another thing Oz was capable of taking from them---if youth, sex, freedom, and love already weren’t enough.

“You didn’t see her---when you escaped?” O’Reily asked.

“I couldn’t. Cops had her house staked and bugged. Couldn’t go home either,” he sadly said.

“I was so fucking disappointed when they caught you.”

“You---imagine me,” Alvarez cracked a small smile. “But why you?”

“You escaping had brought some hope to this shithole, you know? You escaped. At least one of us did---one of us was free. El Cid was mad as fuck. That huge ass vein in his neck almost busted. It was funny.”

“I bet.”

“Come on. I’m trying to get you to laugh, or at least smile a little.”

“I fucking hate this place, Ryan. I have to get the hell away.”

“We all hate this place. You’re just going through a moment. I have them all the time,” O’Reily said.

“Yeah---maybe. I wonder if Maritza ever thinks about me like I think about her. I wonder if she ever thinks about---him like I do,” the Latino said mainly to himself.

“Him?”

“Our son.”

O’Reily had known for the longest while that he did not want children. He believed that no matter how hard he tried, it was going to be beyond his reach to be a better father than his own was to him. He had accepted that fact and was never going to put children through the rough childhood both he and Cyril had endured. It had to have been difficult for Alvarez only to hold his baby boy once before he was taken back. O’Reily had not known himself what it was to love a child, but he had heard it was an extremely concentrated emotion from what others had said.

“What were you going to name him?” O’Reily asked but quickly realized how intensely personal and painful the subject had to be for him. “Hey, um---you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

“We hadn’t talked about names, actually,” the Latino said. “We wanted to meet him before we decided on his name. Then---all that shit happened.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Maybe Luís. Yeah---I like Luís.”

“Well, you know, Ryan’s always a good name,” he smiled and said to try to lighten the mood. “Masculine and strong. Yeah, Ryan’s the best name.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Hey!”

“I thought about Luís a lot when she was pregnant. I thought it would’ve been perfect for him when I first met him too.”

“Luís Alvarez huh? It has a ring to it.”

“We’ll never know now,” Alvarez said of his fallen son. “I’ll never know him. You know, I never told anyone what I wanted to name him---not even Maritza.”

“Hey---for what it’s worth, I bet that kid would’ve been just as handsome as his dad is,” the Irishman said positively because Alvarez seemed so depressed. “And I bet he would’ve had your passion and loyalty.”

“You don’t have to say that stuff. I’m just in a moment---like you said.”

“I don’t have to say it, but I think it would be true. Look, you already know how fucking handsome I think you are. That kid was your blood. You think he was going to look any different from his dad? He would’ve made little girls very happy.”

“He was too perfect for this world, so God had to take him back. He had to---I don’t blame him. I have to believe that.”

“I know. I know you do.”

The conversation was one of the hardest they had ever had. Alvarez was still hurting and wondering about his son even though so much time had passed since his death. The sadness and depression was emblazoned inside his eyes. Raw emotion was coming from him and O’Reily was at a loss of thoughts. There were no more words left to say. It was uncomfortable but he remained quiet to let Alvarez have his grief. It was good for him to talk about it with someone else---keeping all that unharnessed emotion bottled up for all these years without a proper outlet must have made his insides numb.

 

 **Nothing had happened** a few days ago when they had been in the storage room alone together. They had not discussed any business nor did they do anything else but talk. O’Reily had been uncomfortable at first, but he had just let Alvarez talk about his son. Some of the conversation had been in Spanish so he did not understand it---like Alvarez had forgotten he was there sometimes. It did not matter though because the Irishman had remained quiet and let him talk about whatever he wanted to.

The Alvarez he had seen during that time was a different man than the one he presented to Oz---almost a broken man. His son was supposed to be his connection to the real world---something to prove that he was still relevant and mattered. O’Reily felt bad and was not able to get those hurt eyes out of his mind. It was lunchtime and he was on the line serving the inmates as he kept mainly to himself. Alvarez’s eyes that day had haunted him since then. The Irishman saw Cutler and his prag Robson waiting in the line---how far the Nazi fuck had fallen to be in makeup and looking like a woman.

“Hey, don’t forget my cookie,” Cutler barked at his prag.

“Hey, Robson. Hey, what shade of lipstick is that, huh?” O’Reily mocked him. “Is it dick suck red?”

“Yeah, we heard you’re working receiving and discharge,” Pancamo said and laughed.

“Uh-oh.”

“Fuck you, Pancamo,” Robson said.

“I’ll tell you what, prag. This time, I’ll use my bad hand to beat you,” the Italian said as he approached. “Even it up a little. Bitch!”

Pancamo went to hit Robson but Cutler stepped in and punched him before he had a chance to. The muscular Italian faltered back as the fight broke out in the cafeteria and the hacks rushed to break it up. O’Reily looked on and laughed as the hacks separated and dragged the three of them out of the cafeteria. He did not even want to imagine what Robson had to do to get that kind of protection from Cutler, but he remembered what had done, of his own free will, to regain Alvarez’s trust.

He definitely was in no place to judge, but the situation with the Latino was different. The word prag had never, nor would it ever have been used to describe either of them. O’Reily still felt uncomfortable when they were alone together, but the partnership between them was growing and proving to be far more beneficial than he had first anticipated. His body ignored his mind’s commands when they were together. A growing part of him had come to like that because it felt like freedom. It felt like the closest thing to freedom inside the walls of Oz.

O’Reily asked Murphy for a favor after he was finished in the cafeteria and the officer agreed after some convincing. They walked together to death row so that he could check up on Cyril and see how he was doing. It was hard not having him in the pod to talk to and look out for. Everything was so fucked up in his life. Murphy gave him a time limit before they went into death row and walked away. At the front of his cell, O’Reily stood there and looked in as his brother was staring at the wall with his back to him.

“Cyril---hey, Cyril,” he gently called out. “Hey, Cyril, you all right, little bro?”

“No,” Cyril replied without bothering to turn around. “No, no, no, no, no.”

“What’s the matter? What’s wrong? Hey---turn around so I can see you.”

“He’s depressed, O’Reily,” Keller said from the cell directly across the hall.

“No shit, K-boy. You must have so much time on your hands now that Beecher is paroled.”

“Shut up. Don’t remind me of that shit.”

“Look---shut up! I’m not here to be a part of ‘Keller’s Twisted Love’, all right?” O’Reily snapped at him. “Cyril, hey---what’s wrong? Come on---talk to me.”

“No,” his brother started whimpering. “No---he’s gone.”

“Damn, O’Reily---your ass is looking nice and tight in those jeans,” Keller smirked and said as he was checking him out. “Let me bend you over and open you up.”

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking faggot!” he yelled. “I ain’t like that, you fucking faggot cocksucker!”

“Yo, Keller---shut the fuck up!” Lopresti called out. “O’Reily, hurry it up and move it along.”

“Cyril---Cyril, talk to me. Who’s gone?”

“He’s gone. He’s gone. She took him away,” his brother started crying as he said.

“O’Reily, come on. Sister Pete wants to see you,” Murphy came back and said.

“Jericho? Sister Pete took back Jericho? Why, Cyril?”

“Come on,” the officer took him away.

Murphy took him out of death row and they were headed to the nun’s office. Cyril looked so sad and never bothered to look back throughout the short conversation. O’Reily wondered why Sister Pete took the puppet away. He was worried that it was all going to be over for his brother. The Irishman was starting to lose the little hope he had kept for Cyril---the little hope that had still made him human. O’Reily knocked on the open door and popped his head into the office. His mother was there too.

“Hey, you wanted to see me?” he said.

“Yeah, Ryan---sit down.”

“That’s good, because I wanted to see you, too,” O’Reily said and sat. “I just saw Cyril and he’s so goddamn sad. If this puppet means so much to him, why don’t you just give it back to him?”

“I---I can’t, Ryan,” Sister Pete said. “Jericho was my idea, remember? A way for Cyril to deal with the confusion surrounding the trial, but, unfortunately, the puppet has come to mean more than that to him. It’s become a whole other personality.”

“I don’t care about that. I just want Cyril to be happy.”

“It’s not that simple. Cyril is suffering from severe depression and schizophrenia,” the nun gave her diagnosis.

“All right---so what’s next? I mean, what can we do to cure him?” he asked.

“Your father has already agreed to electroshock therapy,” his mother said to him.

“My father? What the fuck does that old bastard have to do with anything?”

“I know---it’s unbelievable, but in the eyes of the law, he is Cyril’s guardian,” Fitzgerald said and she knew her son was getting angry.

“All right---so this electroshock therapy, does it do any good?”

“I have no experience with it. The treatment was invoked for years, then fell out of favor,” the nun said. “However, some mental health professionals swear by it. Clinical evidence indicates that ECT produces a substantial improvement in eighty percent of patients.”

“Are there any dangers?” the Irishman asked.

“There’s headaches---there’s soreness, nausea, memory loss. Look, we’re talking one hundred twenty volts---an ordinary household current applied to the brain for half a second ten to fifteen times within a period of two to three weeks, and no one knows if there’s any permanent damage,” Sister Peter Marie said and explained the procedure as best she could.

“No,” he said. “Jesus Christ---can’t we stop them?”

Fitzgerald looked at him and said, “The truth is that they have conspired to make this happen. We are taken out of the decision making. I spoke to Zelman to see if we could go to court, if we could fight it. He says we wouldn’t win.”

“That’s genius. Devlin wants to electroshock Cyril to make him normal enough to electrocute him,” O’Reily indignantly said.

The whole fucking justice system was as corrupt as the prison system that had become his home was. None of them cared about Cyril---they all wanted his execution to be over with. O’Reily paced in his pod waiting for lights out to be called so he could rest. The stress of the constant fight was wearing his body down and he needed rest more now than ever. Lights out was less than an hour away but he wanted to be by himself to work through all his anger and fear of losing his brother.

He wanted to overlook the path completely, but he had to face reality that Cyril might be going down. No amount of appeals and protests seemed to work because he was still sitting by himself on death row. All the shit he had done in Oz to establish himself as a force to be reckoned with would mean shit if he was not able to save his brother from being executed. O’Reily feared the worst and no matter how much he had tried to prepare himself for it, his body was unwilling to let him go there. He only noticed that someone had entered his pod when he heard the air suction of the door.

“Hello, Ryan,” Sister Peter Marie said with a sad smile.

“Hi.”

“I just got a call from Arnold Zelman. They’ve denied Cyril’s appeal.”

“Okay. Okay, now what do we do?” O’Reily said as his brain was frantic to find answers to save his brother.

“Well, Zelman will probably try to figure out another approach---another appeal, but in the meantime, the judge has set the date for Cyril’s execution,” she said.

“What? When?”

“Three weeks from Thurdsay.”

“That’s not much time.”

“I feel, deep down, we’ll stop the execution, but just in case, Ryan, I think you ought to accept the fact---”

“No. No way. You know, if I even entertain the thought, if I let myself believe for a second that my brother’s going to die, then my brother’s going to die. This was Father Meehan’s,” O’Reily reached over to his bed and retrieved the bible. “I don’t know, I---I have faith, Sister. For the first time in a really long time, I have faith.”

Sister Pete displayed the same sad smile she had come in with as she cupped one of his hands in hers for a quick second before she left. Meehan had given him some faith---he had to believe that. It had offered him some comfort when it came to Cyril, but it was still not enough because his brother was still in danger. A hack called count so he headed outside to be accounted for and kept to himself. No one had any interest to him right now.

Across the quad and upstairs, Miguel Alvarez had his eyes on him. He was the exception and, in a way, they had seemed to switch places over the past few days. The Latino had still mainly kept to himself but he was not as depressed as he was before. O’Reily looked over with a small smile on his face but looked away quickly. He was the depressed one now. Cyril’s stay on death row was becoming too much for him. He reentered his pod for the night.

“Lights out!” Murphy called out and flipped the switch.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **It was an eruption of** shock as McManus stood at the tower and told everyone that Kareem Said had been shot dead in the visitor’s room earlier. The Muslims were grieving for their fallen leader and the other prisoners were in an uproar over the unnecessary murder. Ryan O’Reily remained in his seat in the quad as McManus finished giving what details he could about what happened. Other inmates were yelling and screaming for revenge, but he remained quiet and in his head.

Said was among one of the better men in Oz and that was why so many inmates were upset over his unnecessary murder. O’Reily had never been enemies with him---but they had not been friends either. For the most part, both had remained on neutral ground with each other. His death was uncalled for. Things in Oz were deteriorating by the minute. Now more than ever, he had to keep his eyes peeled and his ears opened because things were getting out of control. The warden had lost control of Oz.

He remembered another piece of news and wondered if the Latino had heard it as well. Alvarez was standing outside the door of his pod and most of the inmates remained rowdy, even after McManus had finished addressing them. It was a risk he had to take so O’Reily got up from the table and made his way upstairs to where Alvarez was. Most of the other inmates were too busy talking amongst themselves or still worked up about Said’s death to even notice or care about him.

“Hey, Alvarez,” he greeted. “You got a minute?”

“In or out?” the Latino asked.

“In,” O’Reily said and they both entered the pod for some privacy.

“Shame about Said. I can’t believe that shit, man.”

“Yeah---that’s what I wanted to talk about. We got to be more careful from now on, loco.”

Alvarez looked at him and said, “Times are changing in Oz. All these bodies in only weeks. What I want to know is how the fuck does someone get in here with a goddamn gun, you know?”

“I got no fucking clue. I’m worried about you and me, though. No one can touch Cyril in death row right now.”

“We got to watch out for each other more now. Tell me about it,” he said as he thought. “I hear what you’re saying.”

“Watch your back, Miguel,” O’Reily said, more out of concern for him than the partnership. “Keep your guard up and your instincts sharp. Let some of that loco back out if you have to.”

“These motherfuckers in here know better than to fuck with me. I got you though. Go quick---before someone takes real notice of us here.”

“Yeah. You heard about Morales?”

“Got his ankles sliced up like deli meat,” Alvarez said. “Watch out for yourself, víbora. I got your back.”

“Yeah. You too.”

He easily slipped out of Alvarez’s pod without too much suspicion and walked back down the stairs to go to his pod. Most of the inmates had settled down within the hour and he remained on his bed thinking about what his next move with Cyril should be. Zelman should be on his way soon to discuss what options they had left in his case. Something had to be done to get Cyril away from the electric chair.

The justice system had failed him once again as he was listening to a newscast in Em City. Jaz Hoyt was being removed from death row because of his psychiatric state. His sentence was overturned by the state and O’Reily was angry as he went to the interview room to meet with Cyril’s lawyer. It was all so unfair. He sat down and listened for as much as he could stomach about the thought and procedure that had went into Hoyt’s overturned sentence. It was enough.

“This is bullshit!” he yelled out to the lawyer. “How come fucking Hoyt gets off and Cyril doesn’t?”

“Well, from a pure legal standpoint, the circumstances of each case are very different.”

“So you’re telling me that from the eyes of the law, Jaz Hoyt’s life is worth preserving and my brother’s isn’t?” he tried to contain his rage as he said.

“Afraid so, Ryan,” Zelman said.

“Goddammit!”

“Unless our latest appeal is accepted by the court, Cyril dies---two weeks from Thursday.”

“Fuck!”

Nothing was working. If that fucking biker Hoyt was able to get off death row, then Cyril should have been spared as well. The hack took him to the cafeteria because rehearsals had already begun. He was in no mood to be there, but his mother was there so that made him feel a little better about going. O’Reily did not like this day at all so far---it had been nothing but shit and more shit. When he was let into the cafeteria, practice was already well under way.

“‘This castle hath a pleasant seat: the air, Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself, Unto our gently senses.’” Redding read in his raggedy voice.

“‘This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet---’” Busmalis began to reply.

“All right, that’s it. Rehearsal’s over,” Alvarez called from the table in front of the stage.

“But I didn’t even---” Busmalis said.

“Tomorrow, three o’clock,” he said back.

“It’s okay---we’ll get to it. Thank you,” Fitzgerald told him.

“Things humming, ma?” O’Reily came over to her and said.

“Oh, Ryan---well, not exactly. We haven’t found anybody to replace Schibetta in the lead and Ryan, I need to talk to you, but I---I don’t know where to start.”

“Just start.”

“Right,” she said. “Jahfree Neema is coming to Oz.”

“Hey, ma, I mean, seriously,” he said because he had no idea what that meant to him.

“I---I know the man. Well, at least, I knew him. He---he was the one that convinced me to join the peace movement. He was the one that---”

“He’s the one that got you to leave dad and abandon me, right?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Fitzgerald said. “You have to understand---he was very passionate about his beliefs. He’s a very charismatic man, and---”

“Did you fuck him?” O’Reily asked her but already knew the answer. “You did.”

“Ryan. Look, we’re both adults here. You know what it was like living with your father. It was very repressive and Jahfree helped me to free myself, and I’m telling you this because I want you to know that he changed my life for the better.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m just asking you to be open with him,” that’s all,” his mother said.

“Yeah---can’t wait to meet him. Maybe I’ll call him Uncle Jahfree,” the Irishman sarcastically replied and walked away.

They all returned to Em City and he was there, settling into his pod. O’Reily stood outside his pod and leaned against the door as he studied the man his mother had left him for so many years ago. Meaney was talking to him but he did not care in the least as to what the grunt had to say. O’Reily started to walk across the quad and Meaney followed him. He got outside Neema’s pod and stopped.

“Later, man” he said and Meaney took the hint and disappeared and he went into the pod. “Hey, how’s it hanging there, bud?”

“Do I know you?” Neema turned around and said.

“Indirectly. Suzanne Fitzgerald, she’s my mom.”

“So? Get out of my cell.”

“She just asked me to come down here and try to, you know---” O’Reily said with an attitude.

“Get out of my cell, white boy,” he said back.

“Asshole.”

He walked out of the pod and did not bother to look back as he crossed the quad. The fucker was so arrogant and looked like he was going to be a problem. O’Reily was in no mood to talk to him in the first place---he had only done it for his mother. He brushed off the initial encounter and got ready to go to the gym to lift some weights. He did not care if Neema and his mother had a past together. If the man got in his way, he was going to be taken down.

In the gym, he was on the bench lifting weights as he saw Alvarez on the other side hitting the punching bag. His muscular arms were dripping with sweat and he looked intense as he beat up on the bag. The man was so passionate in everything he did. O’Reily watched as Neema went to another weight bench and began lifting the iron there. He laid back down on his own bench and lifted the weights more as he thought about Cyril. His brother liked to box and hit the bag as well. Fitzgerald walked in and he noticed her.

“Hey,” he waved to his mother.

She waved back but shifted her attention to Neema and he immediately left his bench and walked over to her. Both he and Alvarez were looking as he got closer to Fitzgerald and used one of his fingers to caress her face. O’Reily wanted to go over there and pull his mother away, but restrained himself as he continued to look. They hadn’t seen each other in years so he gave them the moment. The Irishman did not like it one bit, though but remained to himself to let her have her time, uninterrupted. His and Alvarez’s eyes caught each other’s briefly.

 

 **Alvarez waited in** the visitor’s room for his visitor. He felt a little anxious but knew he was going to get some answers today. It was eating him alive that Maritza still had not cared to write or visit him---she had to be fucking someone. He had come up with his friend Reynaldo back in the neighborhood so he knew he could trust him. Alvarez got up and hugged the other man when he entered the visiting room. It was so good to see someone from the old neighborhood.

“Yo. I’m so glad came,” he said when they broke apart and sat down.

“It’s good to see you, too,” his friend replied. “You look a shitload better than you did the last time I was here.”

“You know, I hit a couple potholes, you know? I’m cruising now, man---seventy miles an hour with the fucking top down, you know. Speaking of which, how’s my car?”

“I don’t know, bro.”

“What you mean you don’t know?” Alvarez questioned. “When I got convicted, I gave you the keys---told you to treat her like a lady.”

“I did, man. I fine-tuned her, polished her up, but---”

“What?”

“Maritza gets out of Parker’s, bro, and she sells it,” Reynaldo said.

“What?” he angrily asked.

“She said the car was the cause of all her grief, so.”

“She didn’t tell me nothing about selling the car. You see her lately?” Alvarez continued to probe because he had to know.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, all the time. I mean, we live right across the street from each other, remember?”

“Right. I got to ask you something. I need you to tell me the truth, okay. Is she fucking anyone?”

“Oh, geez, Miguel, man I---” he stumbled over his words.

The Latino grabbed his forearm and lowly said, “Yo, bro---bro, I can feel it, man, okay? I know she is. Now, we’ve been like brothers, man, a long time---I ain’t ever lied about nothing. You know, I need to know. Tell me, okay? Who’s the guy?”

“I don’t---I don’t think you---” Reynaldo nervously said.

“Bro, tell me, who’s the guy?”

“Me. It’s me,” he said and Alvarez immediately retracted his hand and got up from the table. “Look, I’m sorry, Miguel. Man, I got no excuses, bro. What happened---it just happened.”

“You cocksucker.” the Latino said and was so close to him.

“You going to hit me---go ahead. Hit me, come on,” Reynaldo said without getting up because he knew he deserved it.

“Eres puto muerto.”

“Okay, Alvarez, time’s up,” the hack said and came over to the table. “Let’s go.”

He did not bother to look back because that friendship was dead now. The man meant nothing to him because he had betrayed him. He knew Maritza was fucking around, but with his best friend. It was fucking unforgivable. He had said it but he did not mean it. It was a first instinct that had carried him through most his life so far, but Alvarez resisted the urge to kill the man. He had resisted the urge to resort to violence to solve his problems. That was a change inside him. He noticed it when he was walking back.

McManus had seen him enter Em City and go straight to his pod and had become worried that something was wrong so he had followed him into the pod. Alvarez had needed some type of release and talking was his only outlet at the moment, so he told McManus about what was going on with him. It was too short notice to get away with O’Reily to talk to him, so the unit manager had to suffice for now. He just spoke what came to his mind.

“Now that I know the truth about Maritza, in a fucked up way, I feel better, you know?” he said as McManus stood at the door and listened. “I mean, just the not knowing was totally eating me alive. I’m surprised about two things. I haven’t cried, and I didn’t pound the shit out of Reynaldo. That’s a good thing, right? I mean, everything happens for the best, right? I wanted to kill him---but I didn’t. So, I don’t know. I’m making progress.”

He sighed and looked up at McManus, who had a small smile on his face and nodded. They spoke for a little while longer before McManus left him alone to be with his thoughts. Alvarez felt a little better, but the betrayal by the both of them burned into his skin. He had maintained control of himself though, and he was proud of that. When Reynaldo had told him what was really going on, it was like his love for Maritza had died on the spot. She had stole and sold his car, but she was not going to steal his heart---not anymore.

Knowing was better than having his mind running wild as to what she was up to. And, in a way, he did not blame her for trying to move on and get her life together, but the way she did it was what hurt the most. A man that had been like a brother him and a woman he loved and lost a child with had both betrayed him together. Alvarez knew he was going to get over it quickly because his suspicions had been confirmed. He was not going to let his guard down because Oz was rapidly changing.

Alvarez was sitting by himself during dinner and was picking at his mashed potatoes as he thought about the day he had, but was still mindful of his surroundings. O’Reily was too busy in the kitchen and now was not the time or the place for them to be talking. He did not feel hungry and actually wanted to go back to his pod---to be by himself. Someone walked up to him and knocked him out of his mind.

“You Alvarez, right?” the Nazi Cutler looked down at him and said.

“Who wants to know?” he asked as he stared back up, slightly annoyed.

“Cutler. We haven’t had the pleasure,” Cutler said and sat down across from him. “I got a proposition for you.”

“Why would you think I’d be interested in any of your propositions?”

“It’s a sweet deal, and you have the type of skills I need to get a job done,” he said. “They’re almost legendary in this pisshole.”

“That don’t mean shit to me. Not interested,” Alvarez shortly replied and was definitely not hungry anymore.

“Kill White. In return, I’ll take out your friend from the visitor’s room,” the Nazi went on anyway.

“How the fuck you know about that?” the Latino asked and remembered what White had done for him.

“Was in there with you earlier. We have a deal?”

“If I wanted him dead, I’d do it myself. I got nothing against White. No deal.”

“Think about it. That dicksucker is with your woman. It’s probably been going on much longer than he told you,” Cutler said, trying to be convincing. “She’s supposed to be yours. Hell, I only married my wife so I could get some ass whenever I wanted it.”

“Get the fuck away from me, man,” Alvarez said dismissively. “I got no interest in your words.”

Towards the end of dinnertime, he had managed to pass word to O’Reily of a meeting tomorrow in the storage room by Solitary. They had business to discuss to keep them ahead of the game. Above that, he just wanted to see the Irishman and talk to him. Talking to McManus had provided some type of relief, but Alvarez was still hurting inside by what had happened. The note had passed smoothly and now everyone was in Em City and preparing for lights out. Morales getting his ankle tendons sliced could prove to be a problem for them---for him.

They ran into each other the next morning and had decided the best time to meet was after rehearsals. There was no time to talk in rehearsals because the production date of the play was coming closer and everyone was busy with their parts or creating the set. Alvarez headed away from cafeteria as soon as they were let out for the day and headed to where he had to be. He was sure that O’Reily was already there because he had left practice early for the plan to work. It was becoming trickier to evade the hacks.

“What’s up?” O’Reily asked when he came in. “Hey---you wanted to talk?”

“What’s the deal with the new guy? I saw the way you were looking at him in the gym the other day.”

“Neema? He’s a fucking piece of shit. He and my mom used to fuck back in the day.”

“That’s the reason for the look, then,” Alvarez said as he moved more into the small room.

“What do you mean?”

“Unless I’m missing something, you’re not black.”

“He took my mom away from me when I was a kid. I went to introduce myself and the bastard blew me off. Fuck him,” he said.

“And besides, judging by your dick, you’re definitely not black, víbora.”

“Ay, fuck you, motherfucker!” O’Reily defensively and angrily said. “It’s only a little smaller than yours. My dick’s big enough to get the job done, asshole!”

The Latino moved closer to him and said, “Relax, papa. I was only kidding.”

“This what you called me here for---to make fun of my dick size?”

“No. You know anything about what happened to Morales? No one saying’s shit. I assume the hacks are involved.”

“I think so, too. I haven’t heard shit either---just that he got his ankles cut up. He’ll be laid up for a while. Who’s going to lead now---Guerra?”

“Word is Urbano. I don’t give two shits about El Norte. Just wanted to know who did the deed to Morales,” Alvarez said.

“Urbano’s with Pancamo, though. He’s not Latino.”

“Don’t know and don’t care.”

“What did Cutler want? I saw you two talking at dinner yesterday,” O’Reily said.

“The fucking Nazi wanted me to airhole White.”

“What for?”

“Some stupid shit not even worth talking about.”

He was closing in on O’Reily as they spoke about Morales and the likelihood of Urbano heading up El Norte. He knew nothing about it, but the Latino gang was not as powerful and respected as it once used to be. El Norte was rapidly losing all its credibility inside Oz because of mismanagement and lack of respect. Alvarez did not care because he knew he was not going back there again. They were his kind, but had never treated him as a respected member of the gang. This was the beginning of their downfall and he was not going to do a thing to prevent it.

Alvarez did not know why he was being this aggressive with O’Reily, but their faces and bodies were so close together now. Maybe he needed some form of closeness after Reynaldo’s confession in the visiting room yesterday. He was done with Maritza and had to move on and think about himself. She clearly was only thinking about herself. He looked at O’Reily---the man always got a fierce but somewhat cute look on his face when he felt he was being threatened. There was no threat here, however.

“You want to back up there, loco,” the Irishman said when he felt his back to the wall. “I know it’s a small room, but we still have enough space in here not to be this close to each other.”

“You want to come and make me?” Alvarez smirked but then got a little somber. “I found out what’s going on with Maritza.”

“Fucking around?”

“With my goddamn best friend. We came up together in the neighborhood. He was like my damn brother.”

“That’s fucked up, Miguel. She came to see you?”

“He did. Fuck him---fuck them both!” he resentfully said.

“At least you know now.”

“The bitch sold my car too. She was doing all this shit behind my back.”

O’Reily looked him directly in his eyes and said, “Hey, you all right?”

“Yeah---yeah. I’m going to miss my fucking car more than that lying bitch.”

“I bet. You talk about that thing nonstop---”

Alvarez silenced him by crushing their lips together. He needed this closeness to make him feel alive. Maritza’s betrayal had taken more away from him than he was willing to admit. There was so much history there and he really loved and cared for her. They had lost a child and, instead of it bonding them further, it had only driven them apart. He needed O’Reily’s lips to make him feel good. Their lips kept clashing as he moved one of his hands under the Irishman’s shirt and rested it against the warm skin of his stomach.

“Miguel---wait,” he said. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Not right now---”

“I need this. I know I’m being completely vulnerable right now, you know, but I fucking need this. I don’t care if you have something over me,” Alvarez said with those soulful eyes of his. “Don’t say no. Don’t say no.”

“I wouldn’t use it against you, loco,” O’Reily truthfully said. “Remember what I did.”

“Yeah. I think it’s time I returned.”

He did not have a chance to respond before his lips were taken again and the smooth hand on his stomach roamed up to his chest and around to his back. Alvarez’s kisses started to change into deeper and more passionate ones as his hand continued to explore the bare skin under his shirt. It all was too good to fight back or resist in any way. The Latino was obviously skilled at making his partner feel wanted and needed. O’Reily felt weak in his knees and hated himself for it.

Alvarez knew he had to forget about Maritza and this was the quickest way to do so in Oz. He also wanted to touch the man again---be close to him. Now that he was free, there was nothing stopping him from moving forward and continuing on with his life. For more than the past year, O’Reily had been there for him---they had been there for each other. They had watched each other’s backs and shared personal thoughts about themselves that did not normally happen in Oz---if ever. O’Reily had been there for him more than Maritza.

Their bodies wanted the attention and touches---no matter how confusing or wrong they thought it was. Both tongues massaged one another’s while both the Irishman’s hand went under his shirt to feel the hard muscles of his stomach and chest. Alvarez groaned in his mouth as he felt his skin being touched and his dick was growing harder in his pants. He cupped O’Reily’s dick in between his jeans and felt the other man tense up a little, but eventually relax into the touch.

Both his hands came together and went for O’Reily’s button. It held up no resistance as the initial barrier was removed and the zipper easily slid down. There was no time to think about it and Alvarez knew he was rushing into things. His hormones were driving him now. He had to feel good and he wanted to be with O’Reily. He wanted to be close again. He slowly peeled the shirt from the Irishman’s body and got rid of his own as well. Alvarez was not going to over think it and ruin the moment they found themselves in.

“Damn, víbora---I see you’ve been hitting the gym,” he smiled as he checked out the other man’s naked upper body. “You’ll be cut up like me in no time.”

“Got a lot of stress to work off,” he replied. “You sure this is what you want to do?”

“I need to be close to you, Ryan. You’re the only person I trust in Oz. I couldn’t be doing this with anyone else,” Alvarez said and kissed him. “I want to.”

“I don’t know. I’m not a---”

“Fuck that label! Be here---with me.”

They kissed again and, of course, his body responded to the Latino’s warm touches and advances. Once again, his mind had betrayed him, but his body was enveloped in a cocoon of pleasure and satisfaction. O’Reily stopped arguing and went with it as he felt kisses on his neck and chest and stomach. Alvarez was sucking on his skin everywhere he had kissed and it felt too good to refuse. He rested on his knees and kissed around his bellybutton.

Alvarez was hesitant to be in this position because he had never been there before. If his father or grandfather saw him like this, he would have been dead on the spot. No one knew about them, though---and no one ever was. He hooked his fingers against the sides of O’Reily’s jeans and pulled them down to where his knees started. The boxers came down too and his dick popped out and was already leaking precum. The Irishman really was not that small and Alvarez immediately knew he was not going to be able to take it all in his mouth.

Never in his life would he have thought that he would willingly be in a position like this but that was his reality now. Alvarez reached out his hand, grabbed onto O’Reily’s dick, and stroked it a few times as the man moaned above him. It was now so he moved closer and put his lips on the head and began sucking. He treated the head like a blow pop and sucked and licked on it as if he was enjoying that distinct cherry flavor. This flavor was salty and a bit tart, though.

He slowly worked up the courage to take more of O’Reily into his mouth while his free hand played with his balls. It was not an entirely unpleasant situation to be in as the Latino sucked and licked the head and first few inches on his dick. Moans and small curses were escaping his lips as he was being pleasured. O’Reily’s body was shaking and jerking for more---he must have been doing something right. Alvarez licked the circumcised underside of his dickhead and that elicited more soft cursing and body convulsions.

“Christ, Alvarez, don’t stop!” he said with the pleasure dripping from his voice.

“Didn’t plan to.”

“You’re better at this than I was.”

“Guess I was paying more attention when girls were sucking me off than you were,” the sexy Latino said and laughed. “Come down here.”

“Huh?”

“We could both feel good at the same time.”

O’Reily had a confused look on his face but knew what the words meant. Alvarez shot back up and pressed his clothed crotch against the other man’s naked one. He guided O’Reily’s hands to his crotch so that he could feel what was there and undress him. While their lips were together again, the Irishman fumbled with the button but eventually pulled everything down and below Alvarez’s hips. They each flipped off their shoes and got out of the rest of their clothes to be fully naked in front of one another.

“You look even better like this, Irish,” the Latino said in that slinky voice of his as he took in the sight before him.

“You’re not so bad yourself, loco,” he replied. “Guess I can’t deny how fucking turned on I am. It’s all right there.”

Alvarez moved close to his ear and whispered, “Me too, papa. Don’t worry---I won’t tell anyone.”

“You’d be dead if you fucking did.”

They kissed again as hands roamed all over naked bodies and craving flesh to try to create the most pleasurable sensations possible. Alvarez pulled him down to the ground and spread some of their discarded clothing so that they could lie down on. He rested his back against the clothes and brought O’Reily over to him so that his body was on top of his. Tongues explored mouths as their hips grinded into one another’s and the sensitive skin of their dicks begged for more attention. He squeezed the Irishman’s ass in his palms and felt him tense up immediately at the touch.

“What are you doing?” O’Reily stopped the kiss and asked.

“Nothing---relax,” he calmly said. “You got a nice ass, víbora.”

“Oh fuck! Don’t say that shit.”

“Why? I’m not going to fuck you. I remember our arrangement,” Alvarez looked up at him and said.

“Fucking Keller! He said that same shit to me the last time I went to see my brother. That fag is always checking out my ass. I can’t think about him when I’m doing this. He’s a fucking creep,” O’Reily said.

“Keller’s a scumfuck. He’s forgotten. Kiss me.”

He pushed the thought out of his mind and they started kissing and rubbing on each other again. O’Reily quickly shifted his body around and licked the tip of Alvarez’s dick before he put it in his mouth and began sucking. Groans were heard for a few moments before Alvarez started sucking his dick so that they were both orally pleasuring each other.

O’Reily used the Latino’s guide earlier to suck without his teeth getting in the way and he was getting better at it. His body was caught up in the bliss of being touched and forgetting for moments that they were prisoners. This was what it was all about and he knew Alvarez felt the same things too. His head moved up and down as he touched the inside of Alvarez’s thighs and played with his balls all at the same time.

Alvarez licked on his head and took more in his mouth as he moaned from the pleasure he was receiving. The Irishman had gotten better than the first time and he never wanted it to end but he felt himself getting close. The touching and sensuality of it all kept him entranced and wanting more. O’Reily’s touch kept him on edge and he selfishly tried to grab it all and keep it to himself. He wanted the pleasure to stay between them.

“Uh---I’m close, Ryan,” he said.

“Me too,” O’Reily breathed out.

“Come here.”

Their lips and tongues played together while they jacked each other off. Bodies were pressed so close to one another’s and muscles glistened and flexed themselves as pleasure ran through their bodies. O’Reily kissed back hard while his hand squeezed and traveled up and down Alvarez’s shaft to bring him release. Extreme gratification overtook his body as it shook and cum blasted out of his dick and landed on his stomach and thighs.

“Uh---fuck!” O’Reily groaned out. “Uh-huh---yeah!”

“Keep going,” Alvarez said to him. “I’m close.”

The Irishman moved their lips closer again and tightened his grip around Alvarez’s shaft as he continued to jack him off to get him to release his pent up sexual frustration. He moved even closer to that tight body and rubbed one hand all over his pecs and abs while the other one furiously pumped his dick. Alvarez grumbled inside his mouth and came moments later under the touching and kissing. He made this cute face when he came and his eyes were still closed because he was reveling in it all.

“Uh---that feels so good,” he said as O’Reily was kissing his chin and jaw line.

“Damn. I never thought I’d be like this---ever.”

“Me either. How things have changed, huh?” Alvarez said when he opened his eyes. “Do you like it?”

O’Reily looked at him and wavered, but answered, “Yeah. Does that make me a fag?”

“I told you---no labels. Fuck that shit! It feels good, and---and I don’t want to stop.”

“You’re not going to call me ‘baby’ or anything, are you? Because---that’d just be weird.”

The Latino laughed and replied, “Nah---not if you don’t want me to. That’d be fucking overkill.”

“I really don’t, loco. We have to go. Let’s clean up.”

They got up from the floor and he sorted out their clothes while O’Reily went to get something to clean off their stomachs with. He did not want to leave, but no one could ever find out what was happening between them so they had to get back before anyone realized that they both were missing at the same time. Alvarez cleaned himself off as best he could---his skin was still sticky, and put his clothes back on. O’Reily followed too and they were both dressed shortly after getting off the floor.

Alvarez scratched his head and said, “So, uh, do we need to do something about Keller?”

“Nah. He’s more annoying than he is anything else. Keller will shoot himself in the foot eventually---he always does. We got nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn’t the worried one. You were freaking out because he was checking out your ass.”

“Hey---you jealous?” O’Reily asked as he moved closer to him. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Shit. To be honest, yeah---a little.”

“You falling for me, Alvarez?”

“You fucking wish, víbora!” the Latino caught himself and said.

“You better not be. I’ll kill you if you do.”

“So damn full of yourself. You ain’t got to worry about that shit happening. I’m out.”

Alvarez left the storage room behind and quickly made his way back to Em City to make sure he was seen. His body was still tingling from his orgasm and he needed a shower badly because the skin on his stomach and thighs were sticky and felt uncomfortable as his clothes chafed against him. Both he and O’Reily were becoming more open to the idea of being together in an intimate way. Maybe there was more to be explored---Alvarez knew he wanted more. Maybe he was starting to fall for the slick, double-talking Irishman.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **News of Cutler’s demise had** travelled around the prison quickly and it had forced Alvarez to think about their first and only real significant conversation with one another. The few other times they had spoken to each other were during rehearsals, but when the Nazi had approached him during dinner a few nights ago, it was strange. Alvarez had replayed the conversation over in his mind but nothing of importance stood out. Omar White did not kill him. His death was ruled as a suicide, but everyone in Oz knew that it was not the case.

El Norte was floundering under the leadership of the mixed mutt Urbano. Pancamo and the Italians were silently growing stronger under unaware eyes and Redding was losing control of his homeboys. Alvarez was glad he was solo because when all that bullshit hit the fan, blood and bodies were going to be flying everywhere. O’Reily still had his game face on, like the true viper he was, and played every angle he could to keep himself safe inside these walls.

“Alvarez, infirmary---let’ go,” Officer Murphy said when he abruptly entered his pod.

“What---why?” the Latino asked and got up from his bed.

“Morales wants to have a heart to heart. Come on.”

He wondered what the hell that meant as he followed the hack out of Em City and to the hospital ward. His eyes crossed with the Irishman’s on their way out and he disappeared from view a short while later. Alvarez could not imagine what the fallen leader of El Norte wanted with him. He had spent so much of his time distancing himself from the Latino gang that this was an ironic turn. Inside the ward, he walked over to the bedside to see what the purpose of the request was.

“Miguel, thanks for coming,” Morales said. “Grab a chair and sit. We have to talk.”

“I can’t imagine about what,” the Latino said as he pulled up a plastic chair and sat next to the bed.

“Lots, Miguel. Lots---”

“Who sliced up your ankles?”

“That’s not important.”

“The hacks, huh?” Alvarez said lowly. “Nobody else is taking responsibility for it.”

“That’s not important,” Morales said again but his eyes already gave the answer. “That’s not why I asked you to come.”

“What do you want, Enrique?”

“I want you to lead El Norte---until I come back.”

“You fucking kidding me?” he said.

“You and I haven’t always seen eye to eye,” Morales said.

“I was disposable to you---less than gum stuck underneath your shoe. You want me to head El Norte now?”

The man was playing some kind of game and Alvarez was not going to be moved as if he was some fucking chess piece around the board that is Oz. This was the last thing he expected coming here and he was getting angry at the misconception that he was still in some way associated with El Norte. His partnership with the víbora had been far more productive within the first few months of its existence than his entire time with the Latino gang. There was no way he was going back now.

“I know you have reservations. I know you think I’m up to some scheme but that’s not true,” Morales said.

“Urbano has the reigns. I have no plans to go back to El Norte. Let him lead.”

“Urbano is loyal, but he is too headstrong and quick to react. And he is relying too much on Pancamo’s words to be a real leader. He doesn’t have the sensibility and leadership qualities you do. He doesn’t handle himself in here as well as you do.”

“Don’t say this shit to me,” the Latino almost angrily spat. “Where was all this when I came back to Oz after escaping and was looking to rejoin the gang? I had to fucking prove myself over and over again, you know. Now---you’re saying all this shit?”

“He’s not full-blooded Latino. Pancamo uses his half Italian side to keep him under his control.”

“So?”

“El Norte is suffering, Miguel. It needs a strong leader now until I can get back to take care of it. I need your loyalty.”

“El Norte’s been suffering---even when you were head,” Alvarez told him. “I used to be loyal to it. I was fucking loyal. I fought, I shed blood, I killed for it. El Norte betrayed me many times but I took it because I was loyal to what it stood for---what it was. Not anymore.”

“It’s inside you. No matter how much you deny it, El Norte is a part of you, Miguel,” Morales impatiently said.

“No. Not anymore. I turned my back to it.”

“Miguel, Miguel---”

“Fuck you,” Alvarez said and he stood up. “Fuck you and fuck your offer. I don’t give a rat’s ass if Urbano finishes running El Norte into the ground.”

“You’re making a mistake,” he said. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Yo, officer, I’m done here,” the Latino said and walked away.

The games that bastard was playing was sick and twisted. Alvarez wondered if the conversation was real as he walked back to Em City. Morales had always known his level of loyalty for El Norte and skills for getting things done, but had still treated him like a worthless and expendable grunt. He had officially washed his hands of the gang and was happy with the partnership he and O’Reily formed.

Earphones were around his ears as he watched TV in the quad, but was not really paying attention to what was on the large screens in front of him. Alvarez thought of how different things could have been had Morales given him the acknowledgement and respect he always knew he deserved. El Norte would not have been on the brink of destruction as it was now if this had been the case. He was pissed off at all of Morales’s words. A hack tapped him on the shoulder and told him that McManus wanted to see him in his office. 

“Miguel---sit down,” the unit manager said when he entered the office.

“What did I do?”

“Well, that’s what I’m wondering. Tell me about your relationship with Wolfgang Cutler.”

“Cutler---the Nazi guy?” Alvarez asked in slight confusion. “We didn’t have a relationship. Dome-head was an equal opportunity racist.”

“So, it would surprise you if he left you something in his will?” McManus said.

“He left me something? Like what?”

“Like everything he owned.”

“What?” he shockingly asked.

“You are the sole beneficiary of all his worldly goods---both in Oz and on the outside. His house, his car, hell, his 1942 Indian motorcycle,” McManus said as he read off a piece of paper on his desk.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“The will is signed and notarized.”

“Are you shitting me?” the Latino asked and still could not believe it. “I barely spoke to the fucking guy---a couple of times at rehearsal. That’s it. The guy have any wife, kids, family---anything?”

“Wife, no kids.”

“This is fucking crazy.”

“We packed up his cell---put all his belongings into a box,” McManus said to him. “You’re going to have to decide what you want to keep.”

“I’m not going to look through a dead guy’s things. Jesus,” he firmly said and left the office.

The Latino did not know what the hell was going on or what to think. It had to be some kind of joke, but it was all true---Cutler left every single possession he had to him. He could not figure out why the Nazi would do something like this, especially since he had a wife. Something about this did not feel right and Alvarez immediately felt bad for his wife. To lose her husband and then to be left without anything was unfair and not right. That was her house and her possessions---not his.

Alvarez remembered the conversation the two of them had in the cafeteria. Maybe this was Cutler’s way of trying to coax him into killing White from beyond the grave. It was an extremely risky and foolish move if that was the case because he was not going to kill anyone. He was walking the rows of the library to look for a book to read while he was in his pod---at night mainly. Alvarez knew he would be lying to himself if he said he had never thought about sharing a pod with Ryan O’Reily.

“I guess we’ll have to wait until the afterlife to find out why Cutler would up and give his belongings to a fucking wetback,” Schillinger said from the table behind him.

“Yo, I’m as bugged out as you,” the Latino turned around and replied. “I mean, I know you guys spent a lot of time with Cutler. Did he ever mention anything about me?”

“Yeah, in his sleep at night, he’d whisper your name. Fuck off,” Robson said.

“I suggest this now, Alvarez, or I’ll find a way to make it happen later. You sign all his stuff over to his wife,” Schillinger threatened.

“I already thought about that.”

“Don’t think, spic---do,” Robson spat out.

“You know what? Maybe I should give all his assets to you, Ruby, being as you already gave him your ass,” Alvarez degraded Cutler’s former prag and said.

“Cunt!”

He ignored the Nazis and found a book to check out before he headed back to his pod. Today so far had already been an eventful one, but he was tired of the surprises. Alvarez wondered what O’Reily would think of his new inheritance and realized just how much power he had. All those things belonged to him. He could put Cutler’s wife out on the streets and sell the house if he wanted to. The inheritance could go so many tempting ways.

The Latino emerged from his pod and walked down to the quad to sit at one of the game tables by himself. He wanted to play another game of chess with the Irishman, but the latter was in the kitchen preparing for lunch. What they had was developing into something. Alvarez was jealous when O’Reily had told him that Keller had been looking at his ass. Those were dangerous thoughts that he was not supposed to be having.

“Alvarez, we got to talk,” Urbano said and sat without waiting for the appropriate response.

“Damn, I’m just a busy man today,” he responded. “Everyone wants a fucking piece.”

“So I hear. What you going to do with Cutler’s inheritance?”

“That ain’t your business. What do you want?”

“You’re not a stupid man, Alvarez. Not the smartest, but not stupid, either,” the default El Norte leader said to him.

“Meaning?”

“I know Morales spoke to you this morning.”

“So?” the Latino nonchalantly said.

“What was that about? You’re not a member of El Norte anymore.”

“Again, not your business.”

“Don’t cross me, Alvarez. I’ll do what El Cid and Morales couldn’t---I’ll put you down permanently.”

“That supposed to be some sort of threat?” he laughed at the inexperienced bastard. “How many have tried, maricón. I’m still here. Your words don’t mean shit.”

“They ain’t me.”

He had to hold in his fits of laughter inside because Urbano was so fucking green and inexperienced in how things actually went down in Oz. Morales was right about him being headstrong, but had failed to mention that he was a complete moron as well. No wonder El Norte had lost as much respect as it did inside these walls---no one could take that tool seriously. Morales had begun hammering everything the gang was into the dirt and Urbano was going to finish it off. Alvarez did not feel strongly one way or the other about the gang’s reputation anymore.

The pathetic half-bred Latino that catered more to his Italian side than he did his Latin one had taken up El Norte. There was no doubt that Pancamo was planning to merge the wops together with the spics to reinforce the Italian presence inside Oz. Though Alvarez did not care what happened to the gang, having El Norte falling into Pancamo’s oversized hands would be a massive blow to the Latinos. He had to set the record straight, though.

“You right. When they were running shit, El Norte was something. It demanded respect and took no bullshit from anyone in here,” the Latino made the strong point. “Now, it’s just a few pussy bitches running around pretending to play gang wars. You’re the laughing stock of Oz, you stupid motherfucker.”

“Watch your goddamn mouth, asshole. El Norte is still at the top of its game,” Urbano stupidly and blindly defended his rapidly sinking ship. “You better not come sniffing back here for the leadership role, cocksucker.”

“Think whatever you want, you dumbass. I don’t want dick to do with El Norte---that’s all for you to run into the ground. Besides, I’m not a member anymore, you know. It’s just like you said.”

“Glad you understand,” he said and got up. “Bastard.”

The conversation could have gone in a very different direction. He could have told Urbano what Morales had really thought of him, but the inside joke was too good for him to make public. He knew he was going to be laughing at him long after that stupid fuck buried El Norte, and possibly himself, under six feet of dirt. Alvarez watched Urbano walk away and kept to himself at the table. The buzzer rang for them to go to lunch so he left and went to the gate to get out.

 

 **Things with Alvarez** were pushing too far past his comfort zone and getting too deep inside him. It was uncomfortable showing more of his insides, and no matter how hard he had tried to close himself off from the Latino, O’Reily was failing. The line between their secret partnership and personal relationship was becoming more blurred and scattered. Alvarez was getting too close for comfort and he was worried about what that meant.

He left Em City and headed to the infirmary because Cyril was experiencing negative side effects from the electroshock therapy and he wanted to see if everything was okay. The execution date crept closer and almost all his options had dried up now. O’Reily walked into the hospital ward, but his brother was sleeping---his wrists and ankles strapped to the bed like an animal. Dr. Nathan came over and both went out to the hallway while he kept looking at Cyril through the window.

“Hey, Gloria---hey, thanks a lot for letting my brother, you know, chill out in the hospital ward,” he said. “It means a lot to me.”

“Well, that’s okay,” Dr. Nathan said back.

“Yeah. Hey, we just heard that, yeah---his latest appeal has been denied and the lawyer’s going to plead his case to the state Supreme Court but, you know, unless a fucking miracle happens, I think Cyril’s going to be executed next week.”

“I have to go,” she uncomfortably said.

“Hey, Gloria, I never stopped loving you---not for one second.”

He said the words but was not sure if he believed them anymore. It had just felt like the right thing to say---maybe he wanted it to be the right thing to say, but he knew his feelings for her were slowly changing. O’Reily knew there was never going to be a chance for them and he was tired of fighting for it to happen. Dr. Nathan had made it clear time and again that there was no chance for them. He looked at Cyril inside the ward through the glass when she had left him alone.

O’Reily wanted more than anything to love her the way he used to, but his body did not feel the same things it once had. Maybe he never loved her as he thought he did. There was no such thing as love inside Oz. He had to get to that place again though because Alvarez was consuming too many of this thoughts. He did not want the Latino so far inside his mind. It felt like he was being invaded. An officer walked him over to the cafeteria for his lunch duty.

“Hey, stranger,” his mother greeted him when he entered. “Haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“Well, you, know, you’ve been busy, with the play---boyfriend,” he said.

“Boyfriend?”

“Jahfree Neema. I see you here---I see you there, laughing and whispering. It’s very sweet---very intimate,” O’Reily coldly replied, his green eyes flaring with anger.

“Ryan, come on,” Fitzgerald smiled because she thought it was all a joke.

“What? You going to tell me that I’m imagining it---that my eyes are deceiving me?”

“No.”

“You asked me to be nice to the guy---I tried. He blew me off. You know, I know you think he’s some sort of hotshot savior and all, but to me, he’s just another fucking wanker. You two enjoy yourselves. Meanwhile, my little brother’s going to die,” the Irishman said and started to walk away to the kitchen.

“Ryan,” she called out.

“What?” he yelled as he looked back.

Fitzgerald looked at his eyes and said, “Promise me you won’t do anything to harm Jahfree.”

“Oh, gee, ma---you really think I’m capable of something like that?”

The resentment and deadly sarcasm was there in his voice, but there was also a twinge of jealousy. O’Reily left to the kitchen to get to work and regretted seeing his mother there. He had been trying to avoid her as much as he could since Neema had come to Oz. Her only focus was supposed to be on him and Cyril---especially Cyril and his impending execution.

A plan to take out Neema could easy formulate itself inside his head and he was seriously considering it, and going against his mother’s wishes. The arrogant fuck needed to be knocked down a peg or just airholed. O’Reily leaned against a stone column in Em City and was only a few feet away from where Redding and Neema were talking. Both men knew he was there, but neither cared. He had to know what they were talking about and if it was anything he could use to his advantage.

“Neema, I know we haven’t had much chance to talk since you arrived here---” Redding said in that raspy voice of his.

“That’s probably because we have nothing to say to each other,” Neema kept with his attitude.

“Well, look, I know on the outside, you and me, we was never that friendly, but---”

“Friendly? Redding, you are anathema to me,” he replied in disgust.

“See, there you go using them big words---think you going to curl me, but it don’t,” Redding firmly said.

“For the past thirty-something years, you’ve been supplying the children of our community with lethal drugs while I have fought to keep those same children safe. And now, just because we both find ourselves in this clapshack, you want to believe that we have a bond? We don’t.”

“We do! I’ve seen the error of my ways, and I’m trying to correct them.”

“I don’t believe you,” Neema dispassionately reaffirmed and walked away.

“You know, Burr, that Neema, he’s a pompous piece of shit, man,” O’Reily stepped forward and said. “I say it’s time he learned who’s the boss around here.”

“You want him dead, O’Reily?” the man asked.

“I wouldn’t weep if he was.”

“If you really want to do Neema some harm, tie him to your mother’s crime,” Redding said the cryptic words.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a clever boy. You figure that one out.”

Redding left him with the words and he wondered what they meant. He had to do some research and dig into some backgrounds so that he could have some inside information on Neema. If the man ever became a problem, O’Reily would have the solution stored away in his brain of dealing with him. He returned to his pod and Cyril was on his mind. His faith was not working because his little brother was still on death row. The fight to save him had become so exhausting.

“Ay, Ryan,” Meaney said when he entered the pod. “What’s up?”

“What do you want, Liam?” he asked, a bit annoyed.

“I got some news for you.”

“About who?”

“Morales. He’s dead.”

“What?” O’Reily looked over and said. “He got airholed? Who did it?”

“Don’t know yet. Happened overnight.”

“Shit. Urbano’s in charge now?”

“For right now. I heard some of the Latinos whispering. Apparently, they want that stupid motherfucker Alvarez at the helm. Though why is beyond me.”

“What the fuck did you say?” the Irishman lashed out but quickly regained himself because it was a mistake.

“What?” Meaney said and gave him a look.

“Nothing. Get the fuck out my pod.”

“Geez---you’re in some mood.”

His grunt left the pod and the Irishman had to bring his thoughts back. He had wanted to attack Meaney because of what he called Alvarez. His mind and body were fucking going insane. O’Reily could not understand why it bothered him so much to the point of him almost getting violent with Meaney over a curse word he had heard and said a million times in here. It was a curse word that had been aimed at the Latino and his highly defensive nature had kicked into overdrive.

The next day, O’Reily leaned against the wall of the storage room by the AIDS ward with his arms folded and his eyes closed. Again, he was thinking about Alvarez as he waited for him to show up in the room. They really had to talk because Morales’s death could be used to their advantage. More than business however, he wanted to see the Latino and talk to him. O’Reily kept his mind on what happened with Meaney in his pod yesterday, even though he did not want it there. He was unaware when the door quietly opened.

Alvarez easily walked over to him, put his lips close to the other man’s ear, and whispered, “You thinking about me, víbora?”

“Jesus Christ, Alvarez!” O’Reily immediately opened his eyes and exclaimed as their bodies were softly pressed together. “You scared the shit out of me. When---how did you get in here without me hearing you?”

“Don’t know---soft steps?”

“Back up. Back up,” he said as he broke free and stepped away from the Latino’s warm body.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Morales is dead.”

“So I hear,” Alvarez said, while still looking at him a bit strangely. “You know, it’s weird. He wanted to talk to me the morning before he died---almost like maybe he knew he was going to, you know?”

“Did you talk to him?” the Irishman asked from a few feet away now.

“He wants me to lead El Norte. He thinks I could make it respected and powerful again.”

“What’d you say?”

“No,” he said as he sat on the ground. “I told you, I’m not interested in having that kind of power anymore. Let that stupid dickhead Urbano have it. I’m done with them.”

“The Latinos are losing influence in here. Urbano’s a dumbfuck that follows Pancamo’s words without a peep. He doesn’t deserve to lead and will destroy what is left of El Norte’s reputation. I think you should consider it,” O’Reily said.

“What? Are you fucking high?”

Those were the last words Alvarez expected to hear from him and kept his eyes on the other man as he sat down next to him. Something was going on inside that mind of his---some plan to gain control through this opportunity that had presented itself. O’Reily was thinking more about what would be beneficial to him rather than to Alvarez and inside, a part of him hated how selfish he was being. He had to work this angle though because it was a chance to get the spics in his back pocket.

“No. I think it would be a good opportunity for you to build back El Norte to what it used to be,” he carefully said.

“You’re fucking playing with me. What the hell are you up to?”

“Nothing. I’m just saying---don’t say no so quickly.”

Alvarez glared at him and asked, “You want me walking around this place with that target on my back? Is that it? That’s what you fucking want?”

“Miguel---think about it. You have me in your corner, and---and you could have the gang in your corner, too. We could make that grow and become a force in Oz.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this shit from you. Where’s all this coming from?”

“It’s a good opportunity I think we should take advantage of,” O’Reily said.

“I’ve never been one of them---you know that. It won’t work. I’ll have to reveal our partnership to them. The whole prison will know about us if I do that.”

“Not true. It could remain just as it is now.”

“No---all right? No. Let Urbano have El Norte. I’m not going to be sitting out in the open like that. I don’t trust any of those motherfuckers.”

“You’re not thinking about this, loco---”

“I said ‘no’, Ryan,” the Latino firmly said. “No.”

O’Reily wanted to say something back because he was not so easily dismissed, but something stopped him. It was definitely a risk he was asking the Latino to take in leading El Norte because it would instantly make him a target for every other inmate. That was what had led to the demise of Hernandez and now Morales. Alvarez thought the same way so that was why he was refusing to step up to the leadership role---even though he would be a great leader for the gang because of his smarts and skills.

“Okay---okay, geez. Forget I said anything,” the Irishman said and felt a little comfort in his offer being rejected by the other man.

“I’m good where I am, víbora. This partnership is where I want to be.”

“I’m thinking about expanding, Miguel---the bigger picture.”

“No. Not with them. Those cocksuckers will stab you in the back the first chance they get. It’s not happening.”

“I don’t usually get ordered around like this,” O’Reily said with a bit of anger in his tone. “Dismissed like this.”

“That’s not what I’m doing, Ryan,” he said reassuringly. “I’ve tried to get those guys on my side for years. None of them knows the real meaning of El Norte. Just let it die.”

“Whatever, man. I’m done talking about it.”

“Good. Tell me why you were freaked out when I came in---why you pushed away from me,” Alvarez said and changed the topic completely.

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Ryan,” the Latino said in that persuasive way of his.

“Fucking Meaney!” O’Reily said but he did not want to.

“What about him?”

“I wanted to rip his head off yesterday. It’s nothing,” he passively said.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing. Why---what did he do?”

“Nothing. Forget I said shit.”

“Tell me,” Alvarez tried to convince him again. “You’re on edge. Why?”

“I’m not on anything. Fuck it.”

“Hey---”

“He was talking shit about you, all right?” the Irishman said and was getting frustrated because he felt like he was being trapped. “He was running off at the mouth about you and I wanted to shut him up because I didn’t want to hear it. He was annoying me. But, I didn’t do shit.”

“Good,” the Latino said and laughed. “You can’t listen to what these dicks in here have to say---you know that. Why’d you get angry?”

“I don’t have any fucking idea, but I hate it so much.”

Alvarez knew the answer to his question but he did not push because the other man was having a hard time sorting though his feelings and emotions. He was not going to push or force the situation in any way because he knew how deep that jealousy inside him had sparked when O’Reily had told him about Keller looking at his ass. It was the same concept here, with the emotion being protective rather than envy. They were already in blurry territory and the Irishman was looking uncomfortable, so he had to change the subject again.

“So, you’re not going to ask me?”

“Ask you about what?” O’Reily replied and was relieved that the conversation had been changed yet again.

“Cutler. Didn’t you hear?”

“Yeah---he’s dead. What about him?”

“You mean you haven’t heard?” Alvarez asked and was surprised by this.

“Heard what? I’ve been wrapped up with Cyril and his appeals, and, my mom,” he said back. “I haven’t been listening to passed words much lately.”

“You letting your guard down in here, Irish? What’s going on with your ma?”

“Neema, but I’ll handle him when the time comes. What about Cutler?”

“He left me everything he had. McManus read his will to me.”

“What?” O’Reily asked in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

“Nope. That was my reaction too. The motherfucker left me his house, money---a fucking motorcycle.”

“This is real? He left all that shit to you?”

“Yeah,” the Latino said.

“What are you going to do with it? He had no family?”

“A wife. I’m meeting her in a couple days.”

“Why?” O’Reily asked. “Is she contesting it? Those things are ironclad.”

“I don’t think she’s contesting it. I’m thinking about giving it back to her.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

The tone in his voice already spoke volumes and Alvarez was a bit disappointed in him. He had never had a significant conversation with Cutler and now he owned all of his possessions. His wife did not deserve that and Alvarez felt bad that it happened. It was not right, and he thought O’Reily would have understood that and wanted him to give the stuff to Cutler’s wife. She did rightfully deserve it after all, since he was her husband.

“Ryan, it’s wrong,” Alvarez softly said. “It doesn’t feel right to me, you know?”

“It’s written on paper. The fuck wanted you to have it. Maybe his wife’s a bitch.”

“I don’t know that. Even if she is, it doesn’t matter. That shit belongs to her, not me.”

“But he chose you,” O’Reily said in a distant voice. “Why did he do that?”

“I have no fucking idea. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Did you suck his dick?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that, O’Reily?” his voice flared with anger when he said after he got up from the ground. 

“A question.”

“You think I go around sucking everyone’s dick? You are the first person and only I’ve done that shit with---I told you that. What the fuck are you thinking asking me something like that?”

“Why the hell did he leave you everything he owned then?”

“I told you I have no fucking clue!”

Alvarez walked over to the door and left without looking back. He was offended and angry so he had to get out of there before something happened he did not want to. The question was way out of line, but the Irishman could not deny that a part of him felt special that he had been the only man Alvarez had been intimate with. It was a stupid move on his part and he honestly did not know where the question came from. He did not care if Alvarez was faithful to him or not---that was not the dynamic of their relationship. Or, maybe it was and O’Reily was denying it just like the growing list of things he had to deny or put out of his mind when it came to Miguel Alvarez.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **He had been furious over** the past few days at O’Reily’s ridiculous insinuation about him and Cutler and had been avoiding him since then. In all the time they had been partners, that day in the storage room was the first time Alvarez felt like the Irishman had thought of him as a prag. That was what made him angry, and he had to get out of there because his emotions had gotten the better of him. He was no fucking prag and did not want O’Reily affecting him the way he was. That question had hurt.

He was sitting on the bed in his pod as he was drifting in and out of a conversation with Guerra. He thought to himself through most of the words. He knew O’Reily had been under a lot of pressure dealing with his brother, but Alvarez was not going to be his punching bag or take any insults like that. They were both equal in the partnership and he was going to be treated as an equal. Tension between them had been high, especially since O’Reily wanted him to keep all of Cutler’s possessions.

“You want any of Morales’s stuff?” Guerra asked.

“No.”

“I feel bad. Enrique was really angry at me when he died.”

“Well, then it’s probably best he’s dead. He would have made your life miserable,” Alvarez said.

“True. But he’s got no family left. They’re going to stick his body in Potter’s Field.”

“He ain’t going to know the difference.”

“More and more, compadre, I’m tired of all this shit,” Guerra said of his frustration.

“I hear you, man.”

“Pancamo asked me who was going to lead El Norte.”

“What’d you say?”

“You.”

“Fuck that. I told you, man---I’m keeping my head down until my next parole hearing,” the Latino said and stayed firm in his decision.

“Miguel.”

“No.”

Alvarez was confused because he naturally assumed that Urbano was going to step up and be leader. If Guerra was asking him to step in, that meant that the rest of the Latinos did not see Urbano as the true leader. He remembered O’Reily trying to convince him to step into that role and got slightly angry all over again. Either way, no one wanted to hear what he had to say on the subject. Guerra was not listening and the Irishman did not listen the last time they had spoken to one another.

The burden of carrying El Norte was not his responsibility and he was not going to have any part of it because of his parole hearing. He had to get out of this place and he was going to remain like a fucking ghost until that hearing came. Alvarez was sitting at a table in the quad by himself and he thought about Morales---thought about their last conversation together. There had been no respect between them since the beginning, but he did feel bad about the death.

“Alvarez, you got a surprise visitor,” Officer Murphy walked over to him and said.

“My girlfriend Maritza?” he replied with sarcasm.

“No---one, Cathy Jo Cutler.”

“She’s the---”

“Wolfgang Cutler’s grieving widow,” the hack said and finished his thought for him.

“Right. Well, that’s good. Now I can figure out why he left me all his shit,” the Latino said, hoping he could get some answers.

“Yeah, good luck.”

This was the right thing he was about to do. His life up until now had been littered with mistakes and wrong choices so to do something he felt was good and decent ignited his soul with fire. It was almost in the same way that Ryan O’Reily’s touch, and sometimes words, made him feel. And, after doing so many bad things in his life so far, Alvarez had to do something good to prove to himself more than anything that he was still capable of good---that there was still some decency somewhere inside him. The effects of training Julie for Rivera was running thin.

“Hey. Hi. Cathy Jo, right?” he questioned through the phone against his ear.

“Yes. Thank you for seeing me,” the blonde woman on the other side of the protective glass said.

“Sure, of course.”

“Mr. Alvarez, I’m here to ask you, beg you---”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Alvarez stopped her immediately. “Okay, first of all, Miguel, all right? Let me just save you a little speech or whatever. I don’t want your husband’s crap.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you decided that.”

“Yeah, no---I just did.”

“I didn’t sleep a wink last night, thinking what to say to you---the new owner of the bed I was lying in,” Cathy Jo Cutler confessed.

“You got to do something for me first, okay?” he said because he needed an answer. “You got to tell me why he did this.”

“Believe me---I’ve been wracking my brains. He did like to fuck with me when it came to the purse strings,” she replied with bitterness in her voice. “Serves me right, maybe, you know? Why did I marry him if I never loved him? You’re not married?”

“No, no. Girlfriend. She don’t come around now,” Alvarez said, though he was not sure why he did.

“Well, um, I guess that’s all, then. Thank you for being a better husband than my husband---if that makes sense.”

“Anytime. Maybe I’ll see you again? You know, if I got to sign papers---whatever.”

“Okay, Miguel,” Cathy Jo smiled warmly and said.

“Cathy---all right.”

Again, she smiled at him as she left the visitor’s room and he was being escorted back. She had her hand pressed against the glass at one point during the interaction---when she knew he had no interest in taking away any possessions from her. Somewhere inside him was beaming and overwhelmingly glowing because this act of kindness proved that he was still human---proved that he could do the selfless thing. The act was noble and Alvarez knew none of the other scumfucks here would have done it. Nor would they have understood the meaning behind it.

Later in the afternoon, he and the rest of the Latinos gathered with McManus and Mukada in the hallway outside the morgue and waited. The warm feeling from earlier had disappeared and Alvarez had some regrets about the act they were about to do. He and Morales had never been friends, but they had stayed out of each other’s way in the months leading up to his death. Now, the former leader of El Norte was leaving Oz in a pine box to rest inside the Earth. They all went in and went to a side of the coffin.

“The kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespassers as we forgive those who trespass against us,” Father Mukada preached as they carried out the coffin behind him. “And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Amen.”

“You know, someday, maybe soon, these guys are going to be carrying my body out,” Alvarez said to McManus after the coffin had been rested down to leave the prison.

“No, you’re going to get paroled,” the unit manager said. “I’ve been thinking---we should set up a meeting between you and Luís Ruiz.”

“I hit that motherfucker in the face. He’s not going to come by for afternoon tea.”

“Steve Dawkins is retiring from the parole board, and the rumor is that Ruiz is going to get the job,” Father Mukada said. “You’re going to need him to be on your side.”

“Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll do whatever you two guys say. I just don’t want to end up like Enrique Morales. You know, I don’t want to end up as landfill.”

It was the truth. Sooner or later, someone inside Oz was going to take him out. It did not matter how strong his partnership with the Irishman was. They were not able to look out for each other every second of every day. Alvarez did not want his life to end in prison, and if talking to Ruiz was a way to get out of there, he had to take the chance. McManus left and the rest of El Norte went on their way back to Em City.

“Can I talk to you for a moment? I’ll make sure Miguel gets back to Em City,” the priest first said to him and then to the guard.

“What’s up, Padre?” Alvarez asked as they began walking.

“I am proud of you, Miguel.”

“For what---carrying out a coffin?”

“Yes. I know you and Morales had an unsteady relationship---”

“Unsteady is putting it lightly,” he interrupted.

“Regardless, you came here and did this,” Father Mukada said. “There’s that, and also what you did for Cathy Jo Cutler today.”

“You know about that?”

“I heard. It truly is inspiring what you’ve done, Miguel.”

“No, Father---it wasn’t inspiring. I did what I felt was the right thing, you know? I don’t deserve praise for that,” Alvarez truthfully said.

“I have never stopped believing that there is good inside you, Miguel Alvarez,” he said and smiled. “You have proved me right yet again.”

Dinner had been made interesting because O’Reily had passed him a note saying that he had wanted to meet after. It was tricky, but Alvarez had managed to slip away from the guards’ watchful eyes and had quickly walked to where he needed to be. The room was empty when he entered and he waited as he thought about what they had to talk about. Maybe O’Reily had come up with a plan to take out Neema. The Latino’s eyes went to the door when he heard it softly open and saw a body stealthily slip inside.

“I got away as quickly as I could,” O’Reily said, when he was sure it was secure.

“What do you want?”

“Just to talk. Come on, let’s sit.”

“I’ll stand,” he said in the same slightly hard tone.

“Come on, Alvarez. Don’t be like this.”

“Be like what? Say what you came to say.”

“Oh, hey, I brought you something,” the Irishman said as he dug into his front pant pocket and produced a cherry blow pop.

“What’s this for?” he asked when the candy treat was inches in front of him.

“Nothing. I just felt like brining you one.”

“Uh-huh. Thanks---but I’ll pass.”

“Come on, loco. It’s your favorite,” O’Reily pouted like a child. “Do you need me to say it?”

“Say what?”

Alvarez had an idea of what was going on, but he wanted to see how far it was going to go---if it was going to happen at all. He was surprised when he felt a hand rest on his stomach through his shirt and a pair of lips touching his. It was not supposed to be that simple but the Latino wanted to forgive him for the stupid things he had said. He kissed back and pulled their bodies closer before tongues became involved and fingertips scraped against skin---both clothed and raw.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for what I said about you and Cutler,” O’Reily said when their kiss was severed. “It was stupid.”

“It was.”

“I guess it was my turn to be a little jealous.”

“But nothing like that ever happened between me and him,” Alvarez said as their bodies slowly drifted apart. “I don’t get why you would think that, you know?”

“He left you everything he owned. I wanted to know why.”

“It was to piss off his wife. Neither of them loved each other.”

He filled the other man in on what he had gathered from his meeting with Cathy Jo Cutler earlier. He could see the disappointment and need to say something in O’Reily’s eyes as he told him about getting lawyers involved and him signing everything over to her. Alvarez knew it was the right thing to do and he wanted O’Reily to see that too.

“As for why he picked me, specifically, I still have no clue.”

“The paperwork is already in?” he asked.

“Soon.”

“You followed your instincts, then?” O’Reily said.

“Yeah. She deserves that stuff---especially after being that Nazi’s wife.”

“You’re a better man than me, Alvarez.”

“I don’t think so,” the Latino definitively said. “I know there’s good inside you.”

“You becoming Mukada now?” he said and smiled.

“No. I just think I know you a little more than the rest of the pricks in here.”

“Maybe you do---maybe you don’t. You better not say anything to anybody,” the Irishman warned.

“Maybe you should come and shut me up, then---make sure I don’t talk.”

The kiss was what their bodies were ultimately leading them to, so each man let their need for touch and closeness drive them forward. Tongues scraped against teeth and one other while hands busily removed clothing and touched skin. Alvarez grunted lowly when he felt cool air against his chest and made another tiny sound when a hand snaked into his pants and tightly grabbed onto his manhood.

Their tongues broke apart for O’Reily’s shirt to go up and over his head but they came back together and he felt two hands squeezing his ass through his kitchen whites. He did not care because another human’s touch was taking him into parts of his receptors he thought would die in Oz. Alvarez’s lips were on his neck as his hands moved away from his ass and began to loosen the string in the front of his pants.

“Let’s get on the floor,” he said in that sexy Latino voice.

“Dammit---we need a bed in here! I hate the fucking floor,” O’Reily whined.

“We’re in prison, remember? And there’s no conjugals.”

Alvarez pulled him down and put his own back to the floor as they quickly got out of the rest of their clothes. He caught O’Reily staring at his body again but did not break the moment with words. He had seen the look from the Irishman before, and it made him feel wanted. Their hardening dicks stabbed against each other’s as he got on top of Alvarez and continued their kiss. Hips gyrated up and down and around to create a sinful pleasure that had been too long denied.

The coldness against his back combined with the warmth generated from O’Reily’s body on top of him was strangely exhilarating and arousing. Hands crept everywhere and eyes remained closed for minutes on end as they enjoyed each other’s bodies in a place where it was forbidden. Alvarez arched up into every touch and caress because he wanted his mind to know pleasure too. He wanted O’Reily to touch him everywhere at once.

Their bodies faced opposite of one another and Alvarez felt hotness surround his head and shaft as he darted out his tongue and licked the dickhead that was on top of him. He had gotten accustomed to having it in his mouth and he did not know how to feel about it. The Latino had tried hard to fight away from it, but the touch and excitement of it all drowned out his brain and altered his mind like a drug. O’Reily’s touch had become like a drug to him.

He moved his head back and forth, as he sucked O’Reily’s dick and played with his balls. Precum was salty on his tongue and, at the moment, he did not care that he was exchanging fluids with the man. He selfishly wanted more and more gratification. O’Reily was licking the head of his dick and running his tongue along the shaft to elicit moans and quiet pleads for more---in both English and Spanish. Alvarez did not know this part of himself and wondered if it was a circumstance of where he was or that it had always been inside him.

He was not gay. Growing up in the neighborhood, he only wanted girls and had never so much as seen any other dick but his own. There was a naked man on top of him now, though, and they were both sucking each other off. Alvarez wondered what that made them---neither was the other’s prag. He did not want to humiliate O’Reily in front of the entire prison like Robson or Beecher had been in the past. In a twisted and convoluted way, he had come to care for the other man. 

The Irishman licked his inner thigh just below his balls and he had to laugh out because it tickled. Tongues dragged along engorged and needy flesh as both continued to pleasure the other orally. He wanted to hate this act---hate himself for doing it, but he didn’t. Alvarez just wanted to get closer and closer to O’Reily. There was heavy irony there, seeing as no one in the prison thought either of them was like this---especially Ryan O’Reily.

Positions switched once again and O’Reily crawled back up to greet a pair of lips. Their hard dicks pressed and grated against each other, and their stomachs, like two wielded swords in a fight for ultimate pleasure. Alvarez kissed him back with the passion he knew the man liked and grabbed his butt to give it a hard squeeze. O’Reily groaned at the intrusion on the fleshy skin as he kept bucking his hips up and down because he was getting close. They both were enjoying it and getting close to the end.

“Jack us, baby,” Alvarez’s sexy voice whispered, as if he was in a sexual trance. “Rub mine against yours. Uh---oh! Like that---just like that!”

“Christ! I’ve never been so fucking turned on!” O’Reily said as he looked down at the man under him. “Kiss me, loco. Fucking steal my breath away. Shit! Oh---yeah!”

Alvarez complied and roughly forced their lips together as he arched his back up so his dick could be as close to O’Reily’s as possible while he jacked them off together. Heightened sensations plastered across skin and the warm, energizing friction created between them was quickly becoming too much to handle. Insides were a pleasured fog and warm lips and hands only made the haziness worse. Alvarez stuck his tongue deep into the other man’s mouth and held them together firmly in place.

“Uhh---fuck!” the Irishman moaned out.

O’Reily sped up his thrusting and was the first to shudder as cum burst out of his dick and spurted all over Alvarez’s abs and dick. The Latino warned him not to stop jacking him off so O’Reily kept both their dicks together and continued with his feverous pace to bring the man below him to climax. Alvarez cursed in Spanish, muttered inaudible words in English, and whispered words of encouragement in Spanish again as his dick was being assaulted in such an overwhelming way. The Irishman looked at him throughout his jumbled word spree. He looked so cute with his eyes closed and his face painted with natural ecstasy.

It was only a few more strokes of coaxing from O’Reily’s fingers grazing against his hypersensitive dickhead that Alvarez blasted cum out of his dick and all the liquid mixed together and pooled on his abs. He was panting as if he had just finished running a mile and his eyes danced open immediately to be met with the ceiling above them. The Latino wanted to say words, but his tongue was dry to them, so it remained silent.

They were both sweaty and sticky, but O’Reily did not care as he easily dropped onto Alvarez’s body and rested his head on the other man’s chest. He closed his eyes and tried recover himself. The silence was great because both of them could envision being like this somewhere far away from Oz. It was a thought, but thoughts were all they had inside these walls.

It was not about them just getting off with one another. There was some intimacy in the moment they had found themselves in. O’Reily had his ear pressed onto the left side of Alvarez’s chest, as he lied on top of him---naked. If he wanted to, he could hear the beats of Alvarez’s heart fighting to get back to its normal and steady rate. Somehow, their partnership had become more---something that each man had looked forward to. O’Reily opened his eyes and was greeted by the reality of prison all over again. It cut through his thoughts like a sharp knife.

“You said you weren’t going to call me baby.”

“Guess I got caught up. Sorry,” Alvarez said and felt O’Reily beginning to move on top of him. “No. Stay here, like this.”

“We have to get back. We’ve been missing for too long,” the Irishman said.

“Just a few more minutes,” he said as he wrapped his hands around the other man’s waist to keep their bodies fastened together. “Can I get my blow pop back?”

“I thought you didn’t want it.”

“I changed my mind.”

 

 **The cafeteria was** buzzing with noise as it always did whenever it was mealtime. He was busy serving inmates food as they passed by, but his insides were at a complete standstill. O’Reily had begun to feel guilt because he was allowing himself to feel pleasure with Alvarez while his brother sat alone and scared on death row. The ongoing fight for Cyril’s life was overwhelming him and, if was not for the Latino, he would have gone crazy already. He had to be honest with himself about that.

“Life’s about wherever you’re going to get to,” Poet was saying to someone.

“Suppose you wouldn’t want to trade that service spoon for a telephone, O’Reily? Come on over and join our company,” Redding said.

“Yeah, that’d be a dream come true---pissing off strangers at dinnertime,” the Irishman dryly responded.

“Ain’t no money in the kitchen.”

“That’s why my middle name is subsidize,” he said and watched as Redding walked towards a few new inmates.

“Hello, boys. You fellas are new here in Oz, right?” Redding said and sat next to them. “Haven’t really had a chance to settle in yet. Well, rather than get involved in all the tribal shit that goes on around here, you need to know that these days, Oz has a better place to turn. Mm-hmm. It’s called employment.”

“I heard about that. You with that guy, Arif?” one inmate said.

“No. I’m with me, Burr Redding. Telemarketing.”

“I’m going to try and get seconds before they shut down,” another said and left.

“For all the flak it gets, a sales position in telemarketing is a fine way to keep yourself active,” he continued.

“I just remembered, I got an appointment with Sister Pete,” the first inmate quickly said and left.

“What about you? You got to go jerk off or something?”

“No, I mean, I’d take the job,” the third inmate said.

“Oh, good boy.”

“But, I’m dyslexic.”

“Here---clear my tray, you squirmy little maggot,” Redding frustratingly said to the inmate.

O’Reily watched him the whole time since he left the lunch line. Redding was pathetic---he had lost control of his homeboys and was now practically begging anyone to follow him in the telemarketing trade. Hill’s death had really affected him, and he was quickly losing all his credibility with the inmates. O’Reily had to laugh at how far he had fallen---almost as far as Morales had.

He headed over to the hospital ward after lunch to check up on his brother. He had to spend all this time with him. The Irishman had been praying every night for some kind of miracle to happen. He kept Meehan’s bible close to him and had read a few passages here and there. God was not listening to him---maybe his prayers were not worth listening to. Cyril’s life was not worth saving in his eyes. O’Reily was upset with himself, but kept it inside when he walked into the infirmary.

“So, how Cyril doing?”

“He hasn’t defecated on himself again. And he’s sleeping a lot,” Dr. Nathan told him.

“How much is a lot?” he asked.

“In and out, all day long.”

“Oh. Maybe that’s a good thing. You know, I mean, we’re still waiting to hear about the stay from the state Supreme Court, but I don’t know. I mean, if we don’t get one, maybe he can just nap up until the time they put him to sleep for good,” O’Reily said as he eyes sadly gazed across his sleeping brother.

“Ryan, lethal injection isn’t just falling asleep.”

“What do you mean?”

“It definitely makes execution easier on the public, easier on the staff, but we don’t really know how painful lethal injection is,” she truthfully said. “What I can tell you is the little known fact that it was invented by the Nazis.”

“What?” his mind raced in circles.

“Hitler’s personal physician devised the procedure as a means to kill off children and eventually used it on adults as well.”

“Hitler?”

“Given the concern those bastards had for mercy---” Dr. Nathan said.

“No, I just---I just want what’s best for Cyril, that’s all,” he easily said.

“Well, I was wondering if maybe the electric chair wouldn’t be the better way to go.”

“The chair? Why not just feed him to the fucking lions?” O’Reily said as the anger rose inside again.

“Think about it. I mean, he’s had electroshock therapy, which isn’t such a far cry from electrocution,” she said to explain her point. “I mean, at least in his mind, it wouldn’t have to be. By now, he’s used to the straps and the electrodes. Just tell him he’s going in for a special session. He might never know the difference.”

She made sense, but he did not want his brother to be electrocuted in front of people like that. It was inhumane. O’Reily looked at her as she walked away to deal with another patient and her words stuck to him. Everything she said was right and she was considering Cyril’s feelings in the matter as well. There was nothing more to be asked for. Hs brother’s comfort level was what he wanted most of all.

“Fuck. Hey. Psst. Come on, Cyril---wake up,” he called out to his baby brother.

“Hmm,” he groaned and opened his eyes.

“So, you want the good news or the bad news?”

“The good news,” Cyril said.

“All right. The good news is you’re going to have your last ECT session in a couple of days,” O’Reily lied for his brother’s protection.

“Why is this the last session?”

“Well, because you’ve been such a champ so far, you know? And, because you’ve been so great, they’re going to move you back upstairs. They’re going to fix up your cell all special-like, and they’re going to give you a TV, hmm?”

“Really?” Cyril’s eyes lit up and it hurt him.

“Yeah.”

“I can watch what I want?”

“What we want, bro. I’m going to be there with you.”

“You are?” he asked and smiled even wider now.

“Yeah, and, um---they’re going to make you this big dinner where you can eat whatever you like,” O’Reily said as he continued with the fantasy.

“I can have a fluffernutter?”

“You can have two fluffernutters.”

“I can have two fluffernutters,” Cyril said in his childlike way.

“So, you want to hear the bad news?” he said.

“All right.”

“They’ve got to---they’ve got to cut your hair,” the Irishman stumbled but said.

“Why? I like my hair.”

“I know you do, buddy, but for this last session, they’ve got to cut it. I’m sorry.”

“Will it grow back?”

It was another painful question he could not answer, so he remained still and just smiled at Cyril. A guard came a few minutes later to escort them to the barber in the prison for him to get his haircut. O’Reily remained silent the whole way there because he had not seen his brother with without long hair since they were children. And now, he was getting it cut so he could be electrocuted. He had to put on a brave face so that Cyril did not suspect a thing. It was crucial that he believed in the fantasy.

“Homey, you put Rapunzel to shame,” the barber said as he fingered through Cyril’s long hair.

“It’s going to grow back, right, Ryan?” Cyril asked him.

“Yeah. Right,” he nodded and said.

“Fingernails going to grow down there, too. Going to go from Rapunzel to Elvira,” the barber said.

“Yo, homey---come on, man. Just focus on the hair, all right? We don’t need a color commentary, okay. Actually, you know what; let me get a few snips in. I’ve been wanting to do this for years,” O’Reily said and took the scissors and cut off his brother’s ponytail. “Holy shit. Goddamn it, Cyril, I can see your face again, you handsome fuck.”

“Ryan, look,” Cyril said as he whipped the severed ponytail of hair in the air.

He had returned to Em City and his pod and was unable to get Cyril’s bald head out of his mind. All his hair was gone now---it was one step closer to his death. He had spent hours alone in his pod---his mind running away from him. O’Reily felt alone and knew the feeling was only going to intensify once his brother was gone. He was brought out of his daze when he heard a slight knocking on the glass and suctioned air as the door hissed open.

“Listen, I haven’t been very friendly since I got to Oz, but now, I’ve talked to Suzanne---I’m aware of how hard you’ve tried to stop your brother’s execution,” Neema said and looked directly at him. “I admire your efforts. I want you to know, at the hour of his death, everyone in Em City will be with him.”

“Oh, yeah? How?”

“You’ll see.”

“Let’s go, O’Reily,” McManus entered the pod and said.

Night had fallen on them and he did not realize that he had spent the better part of the afternoon inside his pod by himself. He was curious to see what Neema was talking about, but was taken away by McManus before he could get more answers. O’Reily followed the unit manager through Em City with his mind not accepting the possibility that this was happening.

“Any word from the state Supreme Court?” he asked.

“No,” McManus answered back. “You’ll stay in your brother’s cell tonight, and then, when they take him downstairs, we’ll bring you back here.”

“I was wondering if at the time of his death, you know, I could be alone.”

“Stay in your pod.”

“I---I was thinking maybe I could walk your mediation maze,” O’Reily said.

“All right.”

The local news was playing on the TV while he secretly watched his brother make and eat fluffernutter sandwiches. His insides felt so fragile now that anything could crack it and destroy him. Cyril was blissfully unaware that he was spending his final hours alive---O’Reily wanted it that way. He did not want to see his brother scared and losing control for what was about to happen.

“---Following a particularly heated trial, which seems to have only magnified the disagreement on the execution of the mentally challenged. So, this after at Oswald State Penitentiary---” the news anchor was saying before O’Reily turned off the TV.

“What was that about Oz?” Cyril asked with a mouthful of food.

“Nothing.”

“Why does that man keep watching me and taking notes?” he asked, referring to the guard sitting outside the cell and observing him.

“It’s a part of the last ECT session. They always do that.”

“I think I have a stomachache.”

“It’s all that fluff and stuff, you big freak,” O’Reily said to him. “Hey, what do you say we lie down for a little while, you know, get a snooze in?”

“I forgot to ask for Rolaids. Are you okay, Ryan?” Cyril asked when he noticed the severe look on his brother’s face.

“Yeah---as long as you are, buddy.”

A guard came in a short while later and took the food away for them to get some sleep. His back was pushed into the wall as Cyril rested down on the front side of him on the small bed. It was uncomfortable, but he wanted to be nowhere else but there. It was his last night of being a big brother. Cyril fell asleep a short while later but O’Reily remained awake and was holding on to him as tightly as he could. He was having an extremely difficult time letting go.

It had not been a good night sleep for him because his emotions were haywire and tears had flowed once Cyril had fallen asleep. He had not been able to control them anymore. The officer had come early in the morning to wake them up and Cyril was brushing his teeth while O’Reily remained silent---struggling to stay afloat in his turbulent sea of emotions. Today was the day he was going to lose his brother and be all alone in Oz.

“One thing that I didn’t tell you, Cyril---there’s going to be other people watching today,” he tried his best to keep the fantasy alive.

“Who?”

“Oh, let’s see---the warden, Sister Pete, ma, Dr. Nathan, and a few other people you probably won’t recognize.”

“Oh. Are you going to be there?”

O’Reily failed to fight back the tears, but cleared his throat and said, “No. I want to, but I can’t.”

“Why?” he asked but then noticed the tears. “Daddy said---it’s not good for big boys to cry.”

“Yeah, well, you know what? Dad was wrong, and I was wrong. We were all so fucking wrong, Cyril. Man, I’m so sorry,” O’Reily said and put his hand over his eyes and started crying.

“Did I do something?”

“No---no. Dr. Nathan, she said I got this condition, right, and the only way for me to cure myself is to cry. You know, it’s got nothing to do with you. I’m sorry---don’t be scared, okay?” he straightened himself up and said.

“Whoops,” Cyril said after he farted and both of them started laughing. “I think I got gas from dinner.”

“Mom, hi. Any word from Zelman?”

“No,” Fitzgerald said with a grim face.

“You look pretty,” Cyril innocently said to her.

“Sit down. I want to teach you this little prayer that I know. It goes something like this. It goes---”

He had hugged his mom as he asked her the question so that Cyril could not hear anything. Something inside him felt sick when she gave her response and he immediately rushed out of the cell to throw up in a garbage can that was close by and out of view from his brother. O’Reily coughed up what little he was able to eat last night and spat it all into the garbage can. His body was rejecting Cyril’s death.

“Hey. There’s probably not a chance I can get a copy of that journal you’re writing in, can I?” O’Reily asked the officer after he had finished spilling his guts.

“Afraid not.”

“No, just a, you know, one quick stop by the copy machine, you know?” he sounded desperate but did not care. “No one’s got to know. I swear to God, I won’t show it to anyone. I promise.”

“Your time is up,” the guard put the notebook away and said.

“Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me,” both Cyril and Fitzgerald were whispering as he laid his head on her shoulder.

“Hey, come on---we have to go,” O’Reily said to his mother.

“Amen,” Cyril said and Fitzgerald hugged and kissed him on both cheeks before she stepped out of the cell.

“Hey, who loves you, man?” he kissed his little brother’s cheek and tightly embraced him in a hug as he said.

“You do.”

“Oh, that’s right. More than you’ll ever fucking know. Listen, I just need you to relax, okay? You know, you get scared, you just think of me, all right?”

“Okay.”

“My boy,” he said and stepped out of the cell too.

“What?” Cyril asked when he saw both his big brother and Fitzgerald staring at him from outside the cell.

“Nothing,” O’Reily replied and the two of them left.

“These are the clothes you asked for,” another officer said and rested some clothing on the bed.

“I didn’t ask for any clothes. Is that Ryan’s shirt? He said I could wear it?”

His heart was bleeding out as he sat the second floor of Em City with his feet dangling off the balcony and was flipping through the pages of the bible. Cyril was going to be killed in his favorite shirt. He was so raw and his head was so compromised that it did not know what to feel or do next. O’Reily gripped the bible tightly and looked to the quad to see it emptier than it was just a few moments ago. Soon enough, only one person remained in the middle of it.

Neema stood up and walked around a small circle in the quad and every inmate began pounding against the glass walls of their pods. O’Reily slowly stood up and looked around in confusion to see what the hell was going on. Everyone, except for him and Neema, were voluntarily closed away in their pods and banging against the glass. The sound was almost Earth shattering to his brain. McManus and Murphy came to get him to take him out of Em City and his eyes connected with Neema’s before he was escorted out.

The time was drawing close. The silence of the gym was a maddening backdrop to his already quiet thoughts as the Irishman entered the maze with Meehan’s bible clutched tightly in his hand. The maze was his life, and he had lost his way in it so very long ago. He was unable to cope with his flesh and blood being destroyed today. A part of him was going to die at any minute, despite all his efforts to save and protect him. Cyril was a part of him.

O’Reily traversed the maze as far as he could until he came to a dead end. He had to go back and take a different branching path to reach the ultimate goal. His head was too cloudy and his mind was too gone to complete the meditation maze, so he stopped and kneeled to the ground where he was. He was lost in so many ways. He rested the book on the floor in front of him and pressed his arms into his chest as he closed his eyes and prayed---a prayer for his brother’s soul that he wanted more than anything to be guided to and embraced by God.

He interlaced his fingers and dug his joined hands into the ground of the maze as he bowed his head and prayed. Tears escaped his eyes and his body was torn from the inside. His faith was not helping him cope with the loss he would soon endure. O’Reily wanted to scream or emotionally lash out at something but his eyes remained closed and his hands clamped together as he prayed and cried for his little brother. It all stayed a blur in his mind, and his insides were drenched from the many tears he had fought all this time to keep from releasing themselves.

A few hours had passed and the shock of it all had just barely allowed him to remain breathing. His heart was strained and hurting but also bursting for joy when McManus had come to tell him the news. O’Reily sat on a chair in his pod with the bible and a copy of the transcripts from the guard taking notes on Cyril resting on his lap. Emotions had been savagely beaten and his mind had threatened to shut his body down at any minute. But, it had worked. Prayer had worked. O’Reily felt the lifeline surge through him---it saved him from drowning inside himself.

“Thank you,” he said and looked up at the ceiling of the pod.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **Faith had gotten him through** one of the most difficult times in his life. He had prayed, and had truly believed it, and, as a result, his little brother’s life was spared. He had never felt such an overwhelming feeling of relief and peace as he had when McManus had come to the gym to tell him what happened. O’Reily had remained to himself over the next few days---not really even talking to Alvarez, because he had to recollect his thoughts and prepare to take up the fight once again.

He could not deal with the confusion of his feelings for the Latino, though. He had given up denying that there was something between them. Something he was not supposed to feel because he was not a fag. The feelings were there though, and the partnership was thriving without anyone being the wiser. O’Reily was pushing the lunch cart to deliver food to the various cellblocks. His first stop, of course, was death row. He saw his mother when he entered.

“Lunch, little brother,” the Irishman said as he retrieved the tray.

“Is it fluffernutter?” Cyril asked hopefully.

“Not this time, sport.”

“He’s doing fine,” Fitzgerald said to him after she came out of the cell.

“Yeah.”

“You know, he’s still completely unaware that he was almost executed. I don’t know if we can get away with the charade the next time.”

“No, no---Cyril’s going to be fine,” O’Reily said. “He’s not going to die.”

“Ryan, the court didn’t overturn the death sentence. One justice ruled for a stay, and that’s all,” his mother told him what he already knew.

“No,” he said. “I prayed, God listened. He saved Cyril’s life---that’s it.”

“Ryan.”

“Hey, ma, have a little faith, all right?”

She smiled and touched his face before saying, “I will.”

He left because he had more places to deliver lunch to. His mother had to have faith in what had happened. Cyril not being executed that day was a sign from God himself and O’Reily took it to mean that. The state Supreme Court had to overturn his sentence because it was meant to be that way. He walked over to the hospital and started passing out trays to the patients there.

“Look, fuckstick, I don’t make the food, all right? I just serve it,” he said to a complaining inmate.

“Ryan, if you’re finished, I’d like to see you,” Dr. Nathan said and they both walked into her office. “I---I don’t know if you’re aware that I was the attending doctor for your brother’s execution.”

“No.”

“Well, I agreed to be there in case Cyril needed something.”

“I appreciate that,” he told her.

“Then, as they were strapping him in, I suddenly had this flash of my husband---and the horrible way that he died at Cyril’s hands,” Dr. Nathan emotionally said. “And, I thought, good---I’m glad that I’m here to watch.”

“I can appreciate that, too.”

“Well, I can’t. Revenge is not justice. You know, I’m a doctor. I heal people---I save lives. I shouldn’t feel happy at the moment of---of another person’s death. Anyone’s---not even the man who killed my husband,” she said.

“You know, Gloria, I’ve been thinking, I really need to do something to balance out all the---all the shit that I’ve done,” the Irishman said. “And I---I’d really like to come work in the hospital.”

“Ryan.”

“No. Not to be near you, you know. Or just to be near you. Ever since I washed Father Meehan’s body, I’ve---I don’t know. I’ve spent so much time trying to stay alive here in Oz. All my energy has been focused on survival,” O’Reily said the truth. “And I’m---I’m fucking good at it. So, I’m thinking maybe it’s time for me to help others survive. It’s---it’s no scam. I swear to you, on my brother’s life.”

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

“I’ll request the transfer,” she positively said.

“Thanks.”

Part of the change inside him had been from Father Meehan and the bible, and he was sure Dr Nathan knew that, but no one was going to know the other reason. Miguel Alvarez had also inspired the change inside him and had made him want to believe that there was still some good inside him. O’Reily had felt it every time they had spoken when they were alone---even in the many times they had argued or not agreed with one another. The Latino was a positive influence inside him.

O’Reily zoomed past hallways to start collecting again because Pancamo was going to have his ass if he did not return on time with the dirty trays. He was in no mood to deal with the muscle-head Italian leader and his nagging. He was not sure if he could save any lives inside here, but he wanted to try. So many people had died either directly or indirectly because of him. The slain blood was becoming harder and harder to scrub off his skin.

“Yo,” he greeted his brother again.

“Dad’s coming to visit?” Cyril asked.

“Well, not visit, exactly,” the Irishman told him the piece of news he had not too long ago found out himself.

It pissed him off because he wanted nothing more to do with his father. The old bastard used his son’s impending execution as a way to get famous and pick up bitches at bars. He did not care about either of his children and O’Reily was fuming when he heard that he would be coming to Oz. He picked up all the trays and headed back to the kitchen to drop them off.

He wanted the fuck nowhere near him, Cyril, or his mother. Seamus O’Reily had lost the privilege of being their father a long time ago. He had lost it during the countless beatings on his sons and the selfish attitude that had made neither of them feel cared about. O’Reily was going to be at odds with the old prick until the day one of them died. Once back in Em City, he went straight for McManus’s office.

“That’s one sad looking plant there, McManus,” the Irishman said as he commented on the pathetic dying plant in the office.

“Well, it’s supposed to survive without natural light, but, ah, fuck it,” the unit manager said and threw his frustrations away.

“Look, I’m here about my dad,” he got down to business.

“I don’t want Seamus O’Reily in Em City.”

“I don’t want him here, either.”

“You don’t?” McManus asked, surprised.

“No,” O’Reily firmly said. “I just came here to make sure that you weren’t going to do the right thing, you know, try to reunite us---some kind of bullshit like that. I don’t want that old bastard anywhere near me.”

O’Reily clearly made his point and left the office behind before McManus had a chance to respond or say anything else. There was not going to be any kind of father and son bonding experience here---not if he had anything to say about it. He was in no mood to listen to the unit manager jabber and just wanted to be by himself in his pod. He walked down the stairs with his pod in mind, but was stopped by someone stepping closer to him.

“Hey, O’Reily,” Alvarez smiled, but was perfectly mindful of his surroundings. “How about a game of chess?”

“Checkers this time, and you’re on,” the Irishman said after he was immediately knocked out of his bad mood.

“Picked the easy one, huh? I’ll still get you.”

They both walked over to a vacant table and began setting up the pieces and O’Reily was a bit confused but not surprised by his sudden change of emotions. Not even two minutes ago, he had walked out of McManus’s office in a foul mood, but it seemed to dissipate now. Alvarez had made his foul mood disappear. He was not even sure if the other man was aware of it or not. All the pieces found their proper squares and the game quietly began. No one around Em City cared about the innocent game they were playing.

“You looked upset coming down the stairs. What’s up?” the Latino did not take his eyes off the board when he asked.

“My dad’s coming to Oz. I was just making sure McManus knew that I wasn’t interested in any kind of reunion or any of that shit. You know how that bastard likes to meddle.”

“Maybe.”

“What’s that mean?” he asked as he took an opposing piece.

“Sometimes it’s good, you know? He’s trying to get me a meeting with Ruiz. I have no fucking hope after punching and strangling the guy, but McManus said he’d do what he could.”

“Good for you. Two totally different situations, though.”

“Yeah---you’re right,” Alvarez said. “King me.”

“What the fuck---already?” O’Reily said and was not happy with the turn of events. “Maybe I should’ve gone with chess.”

“Too late for that now. The big man’s out for blood.”

“I saw you banging on your pod wall like the rest of them.”

“I had to. I had to support Cyril,” he said.

“Thanks, loco,” the Irishman said lowly, but just enough to be heard.

“Anything new with the case?”

“Nothing. Dammit! Let’s go again,” he said after Alvarez had destroyed his last piece on the board.

He started setting up his side of the board again because he was not going to lose. Alvarez had laughed at his reaction to losing, but he was going to take this game. Maybe he was distracted by what was going on with Cyril, or, the Latino’s shoulders and arms in the sleeveless shirt he was wearing. O’Reily sighed and smiled to himself because he had been there---his fingers or tongue had practically explored every inch of Alvarez’s body. It gave him some kind of pleasure inside---something that had absolutely nothing to do with sex.

“Should I take it easy on you?” Alvarez joked.

“You do and you won’t see tomorrow.”

“I’m shaking, and aroused, víbora. You want to touch me under the table to feel how much?” he said and smiled that devilishly handsome smile of his.

“Whoa, whoa there, Alvarez. Calm little junior down,” O’Reily said. “Don’t forget where we are.”

“Oh, I know. And he ain’t little---you should know that by now.”

“Shut up and king me,” he said with a hint of bravado. “What are you doing? Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Trying? Ouch!” the Latino said, as the words took a hit to his ego. “I was just trying to get your mind off Cyril---for a little while.”

“Are you really hard?”

“Touch me and find out.”

“No.”

“I’m not,” he laughed. “King me---again.”

“You’re cheating.”

“You wish.”

O’Reily knew his accusation was without any merit, but the other man was trying to mess with his head by being sexually suggestive in such an open place. There was a point where he had seriously considered Alvarez’s offer to touch him under the table---he was going crazy for the man. The conversation he had with Dr. Nathan came into his mind and he remembered the plan he had to tell the Latino about. It was going to be beneficial to them both.

“I asked Gloria if I could work in the hospital,” O’Reily said as the second game was winding down, and not in his favor. “She said she would put in the transfer.”

“Why?”

“I, um, I---fucking Pancamo is driving me crazy. I’m sick of him and the kitchen,” he stuttered but kept most of the truth concealed still. “I need a fucking change.”

Alvarez took the hint and then said, “You’ll like it. I did when I worked there.”

“Hey---I want you to work there with me. Not right now, right away---maybe a few weeks from now.”

“Why?”

“I---I want to be close to you, Miguel. You said you liked it when you were there.”

“I did. I mean, it’s one of the best jobs in this shithole. Doesn’t mean I’ll get transferred, you know? This isn’t a job agency.”

“Use McManus’s trust in you to ask him for a favor. You two are close enough to where he would do it, I think. I can’t ask McManus for you. That would be suspicious.”

“No---yeah, of course,” Alvarez agreed as the third game was well under way. “I know that.”

“McManus trusts you---let’s keep it that way for a long time. He may be a dick, but he has his uses too,” the Irishman said and jumped a piece on the board.

“All right. I’ll talk to him when the time is right.”

“Okay, you know what---fuck you, Alvarez!” O’Reily got up from the table at the completion of the third game. “You’re fucking cheating. Not going to play this shit anymore.”

“Whatever. Sore fucking loser!” he said back.

O’Reily gave him a hidden smile as he left the table behind and walked to his pod. They were going to be able to spend more time together even after the play had wrapped up---it was getting close to completion. He did not want to work in the hospital to be close to Dr. Nathan like she had thought---the Irishman found himself thinking less and less of her and what he thought was his undying love for her. He knew that, at one point, he had loved her as much as he had said he did, but it had mostly dispelled away since that time.

 

 **A part of** him was happy that Cyril O’Reily’s execution had been stayed for a few days---not as happy as he knew víbora was, though. After everything bad that had happened to them both, some good news was due to present itself eventually. Miguel Alvarez sat in the quad and drifted in and out of a conversation around him as he thought about the last time he and O’Reily were together and alone in one of their spots. It was deeper and something far more than two guys getting off with one other in a storage closet.

“Score is love-love everybody,” the TV said. “It’s going to be a lot of squatting down, it’s going to be a lot of quick moves, flexing, thrusting---”

“Oh, good---time to exercise the old fantasy muscle,” Urbano crudely said.

“They ought to do a _Miss Sally_ marathon and bring the _School Yard_ back,” Pancamo said.

“Especially since Busmalis didn’t learn his lesson of the day the first time. Ms. Sally says, ‘Don’t try and marry my slutty secretary’,” Guerra said of Norma.

“They’re jealous,” Busmalis said to Rebadow. “The two oldest guys in the joint are the only true Romeos.”

“Yo, Busmalis, are you really going to do it again---getting left at the altar and all?” Alvarez heard himself say.

“Even if the wedding do go through, he got to play baby daddy to a kid ain’t even his,” Poet said.

“Some might consider that an act of generosity,” Busmalis defended.

“I consider it an act of insanity,” Rawls pathetically said. “The brat was conceived on what should have been your honeymoon. That’s like, freakier than cloning.”

“Yo, the warden’s not even going to let him get a kickoff conjugal,” Alvarez said.

“Marriage ain’t marriage without sex,” Guerra said the truth.

“That’s right,” the Latino agreed.

“You going to step in here, Bob?” Busmalis asked and looked for defense.

“You do have some serious issues to resolve,” Rebadow noted.

“Great. Well, to all you lonely, horny naysayers with nothing but Rosie Palm and her five sisters to love you, I say this: ‘Right here, baby, right in my big blue balls coming back to life because I’m going to the chapel and I’m going to get married. Yeehaw!’” Busmalis said and stood up and left.

“You better get your Viagra ass out,” an inmate yelled and laughed behind him.

They had actually gone through it. Many inmates lost numerous bets saying that it was not going to happen, but it did. Busmalis and Norma had gotten married in the cafeteria. They had gotten married in the same spot where Schillinger was standing and auditioning for the play. Alvarez looked at the Nazi fuck as he read lines from a book to him and Fitzgerald.

“‘It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak; Augurs, and understood relations, have by maggot-pies, and choughs, and rocks, brought forth the secret’st man of blood.’” Schillinger read.

“That was very good, Vern,” Fitzgerald commented. “You have a natural gift. Acting is often making a lie ring true.”

“So, do I get the role?”

“Sure. I’m just a little surprised that you’re so enthusiastic about it, considering that we’ve had so much trouble with people dying.”

“Taking over this part now proves I’ve got bigger balls than anyone in Oz,” the Nazi boasted proudly.

“I’ve come to audition,” Beecher said after he entered the cafeteria.

“Too late, Beecher,” Alvarez said.

“Yeah, I got the part.”

“Oh, all right.”

“Oh no, wait---my Macduff got sent to Solitary yesterday, so how’d you like to try out for that?” Fitzgerald said.

“Sure,” Beecher agreed.

“Read this,” Alvarez handed him the script and said.

“So, this is where Macduff learn that Macbeth has killed his wife and son,” Fitzgerald said and set up the scene for him.

“‘Sinful Macduff, They were all struck for thee. Naught that I am, Not for their own demerits, but for mine, Fell slaughter on their souls: heaven rest them now.’” Beecher read.

Practice was over and he had not seen O’Reily at any time throughout it. He must have been spending time with his brother; it was a logical choice. Alvarez remembered pounding on his pod wall as a form of protest to Cyril’s execution. It was the first time since he had been here that he had seen the inmates united in such a way. It had been something powerful. He had done it for them both. The Latino wanted to ask Fitzgerald about O’Reily, but decided against it because linking them together and drawing unneeded attention to their partnership was dangerous---even if it was only from the Irishman’s mother.

The pod was quiet as Alvarez thought about Beecher. The stupid bastard had it all---he was out and away from Oz, but he fucked it all up by violating his parole and landed himself right back in hell. Everyone knew Keller had something to do with it because that was how his twisted mind worked. He was selfish and had not been able to let go, and that assessment had made itself clear the day Beecher had returned to Oz as a prisoner.

The relationship the two of them had was sick and built on them hurting each other---both physical and emotional abuse. Alvarez wondered why the hell Beecher put up with that manipulative fuck Keller, but remembered O’Reily. Sure, they had trust in their relationship, but Ryan O’Reily was such a complicated man---they both were. The Latino wondered how they were able to be this close without one killing the other already. Something was between them---something more than partnership or staying alive in Oz.

These thoughts swirled around in his head and he believed that Oz had finally gotten to him---Ryan O’Reily was fucking attractive to him. The dangerous way O’Reily mind-fucked to get what he wanted was sexy in its own right. His friends in the old neighborhood would kill him if they knew how far he had gone sexually with another man---fags were not acceptable, and Alvarez was no longer sure if it was Oz or if he was one. He knew one thing, though; he did not want to do anything with anyone else in here. McManus opened the door of the pod.

“He said no?” Alvarez asked as soon as he entered.

“He said maybe.”

“I guess that’s something.”

“The key, Miguel, is to keep on track,” McManus offered one of his pep talks. “Don’t get sucked up in all this shit.”

“I’m trying,” he said.

“I know.”

“It’s fucking hard.”

“I know,” McManus said and left shortly after.

The following day, Alvarez was waiting in the visitor’s room for Cathy Jo Cutler. She had requested to see him---it must have been to sign the paperwork. Regardless of all the flak he had gotten from the other inmates, and, O’Reily, he knew he was doing the right thing by signing over Cutler’s inheritance to his wife. The Irishman understood why he had to do it though, unlike the other stupid fucks in here. She came in and he stood up to greet her.

“Hello, Miguel,” she warmly said as she extended her hand to him.

“Hey, Cathy Jo. How are you?” he asked and took her hand in his.

“I’ll be better when we finish this legal stuff. They lawyer says once you sign these, all of Wolfgang’s property is mine.”

“You look beautiful,” Alvarez said from across the table and used his thumb to stroke one of her fingers.

“Thank you.”

“You know, I didn’t---I didn’t know Cutler all that well, but he’s got to be a dope for treating you the way he did, you know? If it was me, I’d worship at your feet.”

“I guess we should deal with this,” Cathy Jo Cutler said at first but then changed her direction completely. “Then again, what’s the rush?”

“No, none fucking at all.”

She touched his arm with her fingers and smiled---not even worried about the numerous legal papers that were strewn about the table. Alvarez’s arm blended into the feminine touch and his insides shuddered because of how much he had missed it. Small and slender fingers rubbing against his skin kept him entranced and internally pleading for more. Cathy Jo Cutler was attracted to him---he was to her. Their fingers played with one another’s and their eyes only connected for brief moments at a time.

The touches and intimacy with the Irishman were soft, but they were not feminine. He knew this could not be helped because O’Reily was not feminine in any way, and Alvarez preferred it that way. Drag queens and men that dressed and tried to be like women just freaked him the fuck out. He knew he did not want someone like that to be around him---definitely not intimate with him.

Cathy Jo Cutler had left without any of the papers being signed. She was confused and had confided in him that she needed some time to think about everything. Her husband putting her in that situation in the first place had really taken an emotional toll on her. Alvarez had not pushed and invited her to come back whenever she wanted, even if she did not have the answer to the acquisition of the possessions yet.

The Latino was in the cafeteria eating as he thought about what she had told him about her troubled marriage with Cutler. He felt bad for her because she had been abused and raped by that Nazi fuck numerous times. Him giving everything to Alvarez was one last way to fuck with his wife and make her an emotional mess because he knew how she would react when she found out that she had lost everything.

“I hear Cathy Jo visited again,” Schillinger passed by the table with his flunkies and said. “That mean you signed all the property over to her?”

“Not exactly,” he said and was annoyed with all the checking up.

“It’s either yes or no, Alvarez.”

“Or, it’s not exactly. She isn’t sure that she wants everything.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” the Nazi leader asked.

“I don’t know. She wants more time. Give her time.”

“All right---just get it done.”

“Hey, I’m just doing what the widow wants,” Alvarez got up, grabbed his tray, and said. “It’s just like you asked. Jesus, you guys need to calm down.”

“I don’t trust that little spic,” Schillinger said as the Latino walked away from them. “Next time she comes, I want a mole in that room. I don’t think I trust her, either.”

Alvarez knew their eyes were on him throughout the remainder of lunchtime but he was not going let the Nazis dictate what he was and was not going to do. They had to be stupid if they actually believed he paid any attention to anything they had to say. He was more concerned about Cathy Jo Cutler than the property, anyway. She seemed genuinely torn during their visitation as to what she wanted to so about the property.

He stood against a column in Em City along with Guerra and was talking while most of the other inmates were watching TV or huddled in their respective groups, plotting. O’Reily was nowhere to be seen---probably with his brother in death row. The amount of things víbora had been able to get done and accomplished inside the walls was amazing. Just as Alvarez was losing interest in the conversation, the buzzer sounded and the gate clanked open.

“Who the fuck is that?” Guerra asked as virtually everyone was looking and teasing the newest arrival.

“It’s Torquemada, the club owner---the king of the night,” Alvarez looked at the ostentatious man and said.

It was a fucking atrocity beyond words. The overly flamboyant Alonzo Torquemada sashayed into Em City with a tight jacket and even tighter jeans on. He wore knee-high boots like a woman would and had a frilly, flowery collar attached to the shirt that he wore under the jacket. A big beaded flower adorned one of his jacket lapels and it looked garish. He looked like a fucking drag queen himself and Alvarez felt a little queasy inside. The hooting and snickering from the rest of the inmates did not seem to affect the man.

Everything died down as quickly as it had started and the Latino was in the computer room by himself just surfing the web and reading anything interesting that caught his eye. He wondered what Cathy Jo Cutler was going to do about the inheritance and wanted Schillinger off his back about dealing with her. Alvarez was unaware when someone was looking at him through the glass and also took no notice when that same someone entered the room.

“Miguel Alvarez. I hear you’re the man to know,” Torquemada spoke in a sensually sweet voice after he sat next to him.

“Whoever told you that was an idiot,” the Latino replied without bothering to lead his eyes away from the computer screen in front of him.

“Quires festejar?”

“No thank you. I hate heroin.”

“Oh, I ain’t talking about that street shit, sweetie. I’m talking about the latest in synthetics. You ever done destiny? D-tabs,” he asked as he shook a little bottle with green pills inside and Alvarez finally looked over at it. “Like a six month Mardi Gras.”

“I’m up for parole in a couple,” he said and focused his eyes back on the computer screen. “I’m keeping my record and my head clean.”

“I like you. You’re smart. You can be my numero dos,” Torquemada said and easily ran the tip of his finger against the other man’s arm before he quickly took it away.

“That’s funny. Of the drag queens?”

“Oh, no. I intend to run all of Em City.”

“You want Em City? You going to beat the wops---going to beat the niggers?” he said while still keeping his eyes forward.

“That’s right.”

“Taken one too many of those D-tabs, baby.”

“Trust me, Miguel. Once the boys get their hands on this shit, every con in Oz will be mine,” Torquemada said with deadly overconfidence.

He moved his head closer and took a deep sniff as Alvarez backed his head away. The man smiled and left out of the computer room as he looked on and wondered what the fuck the conversation meant. Torquemada was determined to make a name for himself and apparently had the drugs to back it up. Alvarez had to be careful, but it seemed like the flamboyant nightclub owner had his eyes on him. He wondered what O’Reily would have to say about that.

Alvarez felt uncomfortable, but he rarely felt that level of discomfort. It felt like the man was looking through him. Then it hit him---the dead eye. That was what made him uneasy. Torquemada had something that looked like glass for one of his eyes---either way, it was not a real eye. Things were changing in Oz and, if the fags came into power as he seemed to think they were, there would be another riot, or something much worse. There was no way he was going to be second anything to that fucking effeminate queen. The Latino had to make his parole and get the fuck out of here before D-tabs became the lifeblood of Oz.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **News of Warden Glynn’s murder** had sent shockwaves throughout the prison and had begun to crumble the very foundation of Oz itself. Many of the inmates had not cheered or snickered at the news because most knew the ramifications of the action. Oz was in dire trouble and even more dangerous than it had ever been in the past. Glynn had been mainly respected by most of the inmates for his fair hand and his ability to keep Oz running while so much shit was going on inside the walls of the prison.

There had been mostly bad blood between the two of them, but Alvarez was not happy, nor did he take any joy in the news. A man was dead---regardless of personal feelings, a man was dead. No details were revealed about the death, but the inmates were clearly digging for answers. The Latino thought of the changing vibe of Oz and what it would mean---what the partnership with O’Reily would mean. 

The Latino sat with Guerra in the cafeteria as Martin Querns addressed the entire prison population. As the newly appointed warden, he took a no-nonsense approach to the inmates and the staff alike. Alvarez already did not like the man because he sounded like a pompous blowhard that got off on the bit of power he now had. It was sickening. He felt a chill against his skin when he saw that dead eye looking at him as if he was prey.

“This is a restraint chair,” Querns spoke from the stage and motioned to the contraption next to him. “It will be placed in the hole. If you disobey, you will be placed in it. I wanted you all to see this monster, to let you know I will not take any shit from anyone. So remember---don’t fuck with Querns!”

When the pep talk was finished, they all were escorted back to their various cellblocks until Alvarez felt a finger secretly slide against his palm. He turned his head easily to see O’Reily give him a quick smile and then point elsewhere with his eyes. He disappeared after that without notice and Alvarez waited for the appropriate time to sneak away himself. Many of the inmates were too busy talking and making jokes about Querns to notice much of anything else.

The closest storage room was the one only a few feet down from the interview room---it was a risk, but there was nowhere else he could have gotten in such a short time and without being seen. The Latino looked around with swift reflexes and only approached and entered the door when he was sure that no one was around to see him do so. He guessed right, because O’Reily was waiting for him in the small room.

“You believe that asshole Querns?” the Irishman said.

“The bastard’s an arrogant piece of shit.”

“Fuck---things are changing here, loco.”

“I know. Oz is becoming more dangerous,” Alvarez agreed and said. “Glynn’s death made sure of that.”

“Did you hear anything about that?”

“No. I think the hacks are involved, you know. Like Kenmin.”

“I’ll see what info I can get. Shit---I wasn’t a fan of Glynn’s, but I’d take him over fucking Querns any day. This place is going to be turned upside down,” O’Reily said in an angry tone.

“What’s going on with Cyril?”

“I’m fucking stressing out. The lawyer put in an appeal, but we haven’t heard anything back.”

“Dammit. I hope it comes though, you know?”

“I can’t lose my brother.”

His voice was emotional and Alvarez walked over and wrapped him up in a protective hug. O’Reily almost collapsed into it because of all the pressure he was under to save his brother. Time had really run out now and this was the last effort to save Cyril. Alvarez held him to give some kind of comfort and felt their lips crush together in a small kiss when their eyes had locked. Lips begged to be tasted and skin craved any kind of touch in the desolate environment they were all forced to survive in.

“Damn---we can’t. We don’t have much time,” the Latino said when their lips came apart. “We have to get back.”

“Yeah---yeah,” O’Reily recollected himself and stepped back. “That fag---what’s the deal?”

“I wish I knew. He’s a fucking crazy queen that thinks he’s going to run Em City.”

“How does he plan to do that?”

“Destiny---D-tabs. Synthetic high was what he called it.”

“Shit---is it coming through the kitchen?” the Irishman asked, his mind already working.

“He didn’t tell me anything other than that. He’s confident that his D-tabs will get the job done.”

“You had one yet?”

“No,” Alvarez said, and did not want to talk about Torquemada. “I ain’t going for that shit---keeping clean to get out of here.”

“Any news on Ruiz yet?”

“McManus hasn’t said anything. You think Torquemada will be a problem?”

He pondered this for a moment before he said, “I doubt it. No way he’s going to beat the niggers and the dagos. Pancamo is still strong---especially with Urbano as his lapdog. Destiny isn’t that strong.”

“I think he’s going to be a problem, Ryan.”

“Why?”

“I don’t---I don’t know. I just feel it, you know?” Alvarez said in a somber tone.

“Someone will take him out before he gets the kind of control he wants over Em City. I’ll go first.”

O’Reily was unsure of himself at first, but gave him a quick kiss on the lips before he left out the door. He smiled and waited for his turn to leave and rejoin the rest of the population. There was a bad feeling stirring inside him about Alonzo Torquemada and he had to keep his distance from the man. Alvarez was not going to be caught up in any of that bullshit that had put him in some of the lowest moments of his life. His clear focus was getting out.

He thought about his conversation with the Irishman as he was in the laundry room waiting for his clothes to finish drying. There was an uneasiness he felt towards Torquemada, and especially when the man’s eyes were on him. Alvarez felt like he was looking at him as a conquest to be had, or a piece of meat that he wanted to bite into. He did not give a fuck about the drag queen and was not going to be sucked into his plans to take over Em City.

“Where’d you get that?” he asked Guerra when he entered with a boom box.

“From Torquemada. You ever been to one of his clubs?” Guerra asked in a slurred voice and turned on the boom box.

“Nope. Never got past the velvet ropes,” Alvarez said and saw a D-tab close to his face. “Uh-uh. You better slow up on those things, man.”

“I got into Dino’s once. The lights, the sounds, and the women---” Guerra said and turned up the radio and began dancing around.

“Yo, Chico, settle down, man. The guard’s going to put your ass in the restraining chair.”

“Torquemada says he’s going to start giving Destiny to the fucking hacks, too, man. Whoo!” he yelled out and Alvarez turned off the radio. “What’s going on? What’s going on? Where am I? Shit!”

“It’s okay.”

“Don’t touch me---don’t, don’t! Don’t finger me---don’t! Ahh! Get it off! Get it off of me!” Guerra screamed out and dug into his neck with his hand.

“Yo!” Alvarez ran out of the room and went for help.

Guerra was erratic and hyper while on Destiny. He was extremely happy one moment and then fear had crippled him the next. Alvarez watched in shock as the guards took him out of Em City and to the hospital. He had deeply clawed into the side of his neck with his own hand and blood was everywhere. The man looked to be on top of the world one moment and was in the deepest pits of hell the very next.

The hacks had immediately responded to Guerra’s death by executing a shake down. Destiny was found in quite a few pods as the Latino leaned against the railing on the second floor and waited for it all to end. Torquemada had that dead eye on him but he did not bother to look back at the sick fuck. Querns had to get Destiny out of Oz because it was eventually going to kill everyone. Alvarez sighed and mainly remained to himself throughout the rest of the procedure.

Cathy Jo Cutler was sitting in front of him and holding his hand but he could not concentrate because of what had happened earlier with Guerra. They had honestly made peace with one another, and had somewhat bonded after Morales died. Alvarez was slightly depressed that Oz took Guerra this time. If he was not careful, that was going to be him, too.

“You seem down,” her voice brought him back.

“Yeah. A guy---overdosed.”

“Close friend?”

“You know, in Oz, you don’t have friends. You have the people that look the same as you,” Alvarez said to her. “Wolfgang had the Aryans, and me, well---I’ve mostly been a loner.”

“Me too. It’s funny---I used to dread coming here to visit Wolfgang, but I don’t anymore.”

She moved in closer and smiled before she kissed him while their hands were still connected. It was an unexpected move, but Alvarez immediately warmed up to it and kissed back. He wanted to feel good and Cathy Jo Cutler did that to him---just like O’Reily did. The guard told them that the visit was over and he was escorted out of the visitor’s room. Cathy Jo Cutler smiled and waved at him from behind the window.

He had budding feelings for her because she was beautiful, but also because he hadn’t kissed a woman in so long. Alvarez was in the gym running around the track as he felt his heart rate rising in his chest. Still, she had not brought or even mentioned the legal papers he was supposed to sign to give her ownership of all her husband’s belongings. Like a freight train, someone tackled the Latino from the back hard and grabbed him.

“Merry Christmas, motherfucker,” he heard as he was thrown against the fence.

“You’ve had your last meeting with Cathy Jo Cutler,” Schillinger said as he and his men surrounded him. “The girl is being talked to right now.”

“If you hurt her---” Alvarez said as his anger rose.

“What? You’ll get your drugged out Latino pals to come at me?” he mocked and laughed.

“No, no, no. Just you and me, carajo.”

“And ruin your chances for parole---all because of a cheap, stupid cunt who doesn’t know her place?”

Alvarez smiled slyly before he struck Schillinger’s face with his knuckles like a bolt of lightning. The Nazi stumbled back as the three men pounced on him and started beating him. He felt punches and kicks on every part of his body as they jumped him against the fence. Alvarez was powerless to fight back, but he tried to get some punches in. These fucks were not going to scare him so easily. Hacks rushed over to end the fight.

Dr. Nathan’s gloved hand held a large strip of gauze over one of his ribs because one of those bastards had kneed him on his side and a rib was bruised. Schillinger was going to pay for this, but he also knew what this meant for him and Cathy Jo Cuter. Alvarez winced at the pain as the nurse pressed the gauze to his skin and Dr. Nathan taped it there to stick. His lip was busted and there was a cut on his forehead. McManus was also by his side, waiting for an explanation.

“I had a little run in with the Aryans. We worked it out,” the Latino said to him.

“Yeah, I can see that,” McManus said, but wanted more.

“Listen, I know you’re going to want to help, McManus, but it’d be better for me and for my parole if this little incident just disappeared.”

“Miguel.”

“Look---the reason why we fought ain’t going to come back again,” he sadly said of Cathy Jo Cutler. “Schillinger’s going to see to that. Whatever you do, it’s going to make matters worse.”

“Okay. But the good news is, Luís Ruiz has agreed to see you,” the unit manager smiled and said.

“How’d you do that?”

“Like everything else in life, through persistence.”

“Ahh!” he said of the pain and gave McManus a hi-five for the accomplishment.

Alvarez sauntered back towards Em City in some pain and under a mild painkiller. It was true. Now, more than ever, Schillinger was going to make sure that Cathy Jo Cutler was out of his life and there was not much he could do about it. If he retaliated against the Aryans, his parole chances would be seriously jeopardized. The gate pulled open and he entered and was immediately greeted by someone he wanted nothing to do with.

“Ouch. That looks painful, baby,” Torquemada’s silky voice said.

“It’s okay,” he brushed the man off and kept walking to his pod.

“I’ve got a new shipment of D-tabs coming in today.”

“So?” 

“So, since Guerra went wacky, the hacks are making it tougher for me to move the merchandise through the system,” Torquemada said, as if Guerra’s death from D-tabs meant nothing. “I need your help.”

“Why me?”

“McManus trusts you.”

“Listen to me. I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to tell you until it actually penetrates that little piñata you’ve got for a brain,” he crossly said. “I don’t want any part of your bullshit.”

“You’re so fucking sexy,” the flamboyant man said as he slithered his hands onto Alvarez’s shoulders.

“Get your hands off of me.” the Latino violently shrugged him off. 

“I like straight boys best.”

“You know what? Here’s one straight boy you ain’t going to be bending over,” Alvarez said and entered his pod and closed the door behind him. “Leave me alone. Ugh, that’s disgusting!”

The queen had blown air onto the pod door and made lewd movements with his tongue as Alvarez watched in disgust and annoyance. The man was not leaving him alone and he was already fed up with his games. He had to hold out until he could be paroled and get the hell out of there. Torquemada left him in peace and he changed his clothes to get ready for the meeting with Ruiz.

McManus was waiting for him in the hallway outside the interview room; a half smile hung on his face. Getting this meeting to happen was progress in his eyes. Alvarez had to fight for this because Oz was not going to define his life---not anymore. He had to remain calm and find out why Ruiz provoked him the way he did. McManus was giving him a pep talk and he was paying careful attention to everything that was being said.

“Now remember, if you want to get paroled, you’ve got to convince Ruiz that you’re sincere,” he said. “Okay---you ready?”

“Yeah,” the Latino said as McManus opened the door. “Hello, Mr. Ruiz.”

“I don’t have a lot of time, Alvarez,” Ruiz rudely said and ignored the man’s extended hand. “Say what you got to say.”

“Luís, we agreed that you two would have a conversation---that you would spend a few minutes getting to know each other.”

“Alone,” Ruiz said.

“Yeah. Okay---I’ll be right outside.”

Alvarez waited until the door was closed and said, “Mr. Ruiz, I’m sorry I hit you at the last parole hearing.”

“Why are you sorry? I was an asshole---deliberately provoking you to see if you could handle yourself. You failed.”

“I know. But---”

“But what, Alvarez? Sorry don’t cut it,” he said in a nasty and condescending tone. “‘I’ve turned myself around. I’ve said three Hail Marys.’ Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit. I am improving,” Alvarez fiercely defended.

“I know you, Alvarez. I grew up on the same streets. I’ve seen hot-headed dicks like you give every Latino a bad name. Well, the final score is this---you aren’t getting out of Oz. Not in three years, not in thirty, not ever. Oh, we’ll still go through the procedure, but that’s so each time your number comes up, I can see how much you’ve ripened. I’m going to watch you ripen until you rot,” Ruiz hatefully said and Alvarez immediately sprung up. “That’s right---hit me again. Go on.”

The words were swimming inside his head and he wanted to pound the shit out of the man, but that was not progress. He was trying to provoke him to get a reaction once again. Alvarez remained still for a moment and just stared at him. There was so much hatred in Ruiz’s eyes that it was nearly impossible to see his eye color. Alvarez was defeated in every way and walked out of the interview room without another word and a disgusted look on his face. It was over.

“Miguel. Miguel,” he heard McManus call after him but never stopped walking.

All the hard work and effort he had put into getting paroled in three years had been set on fire and burned to the ground right before him because of a man and his stupid grudge. Alvarez lied on his bed and thought about the words in his head---he was going to go crazy if he had to spend the rest of his life in Oz. Ruiz was going to make sure he rotted in here. Alvarez wanted it all to be over and done with. Everything had worn him down and he was raw and bleeding.

Cool air nipped at his exposed chest and it was all fucking getting to him. The walls suddenly felt too cramped in now and he felt like an animal trapped in a small cage. No one wanted to believe that he did change---that his effort to stay clean and out of trouble was real and a true struggle inside prison walls. Alvarez was starting to become desperate and lose himself in his own head again. That was when the voices pounced on him and told him what to do. He had to keep his head above water, but every current and ripple was working against him.

“Guess who’s your new roommate,” Torquemada said and Alvarez turned to face him but turned away again. “I knew you’d be thrilled. You want to help me make my bed, sugar?”

“Hey,” he turned back with a severe look and said. “Let me tell you something. Hey, you may have wined and dined, hired and fired, bought and sold, and I may have never done nothing with my life, but there is no way---hear me? No way that I’m ever going to be your bitch.”

“Miguel, dumpling, I don’t want you to be my bitch,” he said in that slinky voice of his. “I have a little confession. I’m a virgin. That’s right---I never had sex with man, woman, fish, or fowl. Now, you’re thinking, ‘I’ve heard about the orgies.’ At my clubs, yes---my home, quite the scene, but I myself never indulge. I provide a pleasurable environment, the necessary ambrosia, then, I let nature take its course---and I watch.”

“Lights out!” the guard yelled and it suddenly got dark everywhere.

Torquemada took the opportunity to sit on his bed and said, “So, I don’t want to fuck you. That would be too common. No, Miguel Alvarez, I want to be you.”

The Latino left his bed and was staring out at a darkened Em City as he said, “You want to be me, huh? You know what? You’re welcome to it. I’m so tired. I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of the walls---the lies, the fear, the death. I’m so tired. You got one of those D-tabs? You want to party, baby? Keep them D-tabs running.”

Fingers brushed against his lips as Alvarez was fed the second D-tab. He closed his eyes to imagine what it was he was supposed to feel. A warm hand touched his chest and slowly remained there. The contact burned his skin but froze it over in a matter of moments. The drugs was pushing through his bloodstream and causing his already fragile emotional state to come crashing down to the ground. Maybe his ego was crashed and burned too---maybe his heart and soul. _I continue to believe that you have a good soul._

He felt another hand cup the other side of his naked chest and he opened his eyes to look directly into Torquemada’s. He was not sure what he was doing or why he had taken the D-tabs because he did not want this. He did not want the man’s nasty hands or drugs anywhere near him. Alvarez’s body had given up hope and his fragile mind had fallen right into the queen’s court. He did not have the willpower to fight off the invasion and wanted O’Reily to talk to---to be here with him. He only thought about the Irishman.

“No, get off,” the Latino said convincingly. “Don’t touch me.”

“Darling, there’s no need to get feisty. The night is still young.”

“You don’t---won’t touch me,” he said, but his mind was almost completely gone. “I told you---I’m never going to be your bitch.”

“And I told you I don’t want you to be,” Torquemada eased closer and said. “Relax---and have another D-tab, baby.”

“No. Leave me alone.”

“Miguel---come on. I’m no threat to you. I just want to take care of you, sweetie. Make you forget all your problems.”

“This shit---shit, this is strong.”

“It only weeds out the weak. Guerra was a perfect example of this.”

Alvarez felt rage inflame his insides and, for one brief moment, his mind and body had reunited as one. He swung one of his fists and connected right on Torquemada’s cheek. The flamboyant man faltered back and ultimately fell to the floor at the hard punch. He cried out from the pain, but held it together because he knew the man was his. The Latino could not stop his head from spinning and, as quickly as his anger had appeared, it had disappeared. He sat on his bed and looked at the man on the floor.

“I like it when you get rough, sugar,” Torquemada licked the blood from his split lip and said. “It shows me that you care.”

“I don’t care.”

“Oh, but you do. You’ll be my numero dos in no time,” he overconfidently said as he stood back up and straightened himself up.

“No,” Alvarez responded as his speech was slurring. “I told you ‘no’.”

“In due time, Miguel. You and I will run this place. You will be my king, darling. You will be my king and I will be you.”

“No.”

“You fight a losing battle. Destiny will claim you for me. Have another, love.”

“No,” he tried to refuse but those same fingers pressed against his lips again and the pill was swallowed.

“There you go. This is my kind of party.”

“No. So hot---so hot.”

“Why don’t you take off your pants, then?” the evil glistened in Torquemada’s eyes as he said this. “You’ll feel much better with them off.”

The third pill had burst somewhere inside him and his body wanted the restrictive clothing off and away from him. His blurred vision could see Torquemada taking the chair, putting it opposite the bed, and just sitting there. The sick fuck was getting off on seeing him like this, but Alvarez could no longer control his own body and his mind was in a maze covered under a dense fog. His hands fumbled with a button and a zipper before both were opened and released.

Alvarez knew he had already lost this battle, but he was not going to be thought of as weak. His body was not listening to him anymore, but his eyes stayed focused on Torquemada sitting on the chair across from him---he did not blink for what seemed like minutes at times. He was not going to succumb or lose his will to the man. His body quickly hopped up and pants slid down from over his waist and were kicked free by his two legs.

He did not feel any better, and the drugs were starting to have an arousing effect on him. In his boxers, the Latino laid there and could no longer control himself. He wanted it all to stop but he never once broke eye contact with his drug assailant because he had to retain some of himself after doing what both his body and Torquemada wanted him to do. His mind did not even comprehend when his fingers hooked onto his boxers and slid them down and away from his legs.

He heard a deep and sucking breath from the queen and rubbed one hand on his chest while the other fingered his abs. He had become a toy. His completely naked body had become a plaything for someone else’s amusement. The dead eye especially focused in on Alvarez as he touched his own skin and made himself even more sexually aroused at the coaxing of the drug. He kept his face forward and his eyes focused and staring at the perverted bastard that was probably getting off watching him like this.

Torquemada stared up and down at the naked man lying in bed only a few feet away from where he was sitting. He was the perfect specimen of man created by God himself---the sinewy muscles and chiseled good looks complemented by that light caramel skin tone and perfect package. The queen was getting hard in his pants, but this was only their first of many nights together. Besides, it was all Alvarez’s show anyway.

“That’s it, baby. Touch yourself for me,” he gently cooed and enticed. “Stroke yourself for me. Make yourself mine, sweet thing.”

“Hot. Hard. So---hard.”

“Touch it, Miguel. Touch yourself. Release you pent up frustration.”

“No---hard. D-tabs. No more. Want---Oz,” Alvarez made no sense in what he said.

It was as if he was trapped in his own body and he was tired of fighting to get out. The only thing that seemed to remain his was his eyes---which still had a stone cold stare on Torquemada. One hand was on his flat stomach while the other gripped the base of his dick and his body shuddered at the forceful touch. _Ryan._ The hand began to move up and down his engorged shaft while eyes remained bonded together.

Alvarez silently moaned and grunted as he jacked himself off, but refused to close his eyes and fall into the pleasure because it was the last shred of dignity he had left. The D-tabs was making him do this but he did not know that. His mind did not know that he was naked and putting on a sexual show for Torquemada. But that was the case as he continued to stroke himself because Destiny was making him do it.

Everything was too much. There was too much Destiny in his system and his dick was too hard for its own good. He wanted too much of Ryan O’Reily. He wanted to talk to the man---even in the smallest room Oz had to offer. Alvarez wanted to be there with him to talk and laugh and sometimes make hurtful jokes. The smallest piece of mind that was still attached to his body to make stroking himself possible only thought about the Irishman and their partnership---their relationship. Torquemada would never know what they had.

The Latino moaned inside his mouth as his other hand went down and reached for his churning balls. Goose bumps were all over his skin and the heightened sexual experience was gone on him because he did not have someone to share it with. There was no touching or intimacy---like what he had with Maritza, or Cathy Jo Cutler, or O’Reily. Hormones had taken over though because the drug was fondling them in his system. That was what was truly being stroked inside him.

Breaths became shallower and more ragged as heat created from his hand chafing against his hard shaft sent Alvarez into a false orbit. It was unnatural because he had no one here to share it with---no one to share his crumbling emotional walls with. It was fake and coerced in every way imaginable. The Latino came under the guide of his hand and serenely whimpered softly in Spanish as cum pumped out of him and onto his ridged stomach. 

His eyes were glazed over, mostly from the drugs, and his still swollen dick smacked against his stomach as he let it go and finally closed his eyes to break contact with the other man. _Ryan---Ryan. Where are you?_ His mind called out through the fog but nothing could be seen or heard. Alvarez tried to move but his body was too tired and sluggish from the drugs. Too much of it was in his system and it had all gone down too fast. _I’m sorry. Ryan._

Alvarez felt a finger trace up his leg, but never touched his dick. That dead eye was looking through him---he felt like a fly trapped on a spider’s web. Torquemada took in the beautiful sight in front of him from up close and smiled at the things he was going to do to this man throughout his time in Oz. He was going to be Alvarez’s mind, body, soul, and heart. Torquemada smiled when Alvarez opened his eyes and they met. This was only the first step in getting his king all to himself.

He ran the same finger further up Alvarez’s body and stopped on his stomach where numerous puddles of cum laid---waiting to be wiped off. His own dick was straining in his pants but he was not going to push anything on the Latino---not yet anyway. He had no interest in being sexually active yet because this was all about conquest. A few more tabs and night like this one and Alvarez was going to be his for the taking. The flamboyant queen dipped and swirled his finger in the largest pool of cum and brought it to his own lips---it rested there for a moment.

Torquemada lewdly stuck the stained finger in his mouth and licked it all over before he said, “Strong and sweet---just like you, angel.”

“Don’t. Touch,” the Latino struggled to get the words out because his body was ready to give up on him.

“Sleep now. Tomorrow will be a big day for you---for us.”

“No---us. There is no---us.”

“Maybe not. Maybe so,” Torquemada soothingly teased. “I’m going to bed. Your show took so much of my breath away. I need to recover. Good night, love.”

As if right on Torquemada’s schedule, the hack’s shining flashlight came by and invaded the pod to make sure everything was normal within. Alvarez had managed to slip under his covers a little before so the light was gone as quickly as it had come. His body craved rest and the dense fog inside his mind was not letting up any time soon. Destiny was strong and it made him sick. Alvarez quickly slipped on his boxers and ran over to the toilet to throw up what felt like his guts. His head was spinning and his stomach was a cramped mess as he sat on the cold floor and threw up into the toilet.

 

 **The Irishman was** in a bad mood as he waited in one corner of the gym during rec time for the man he wanted to talk to. Everything in his life was going to hell, but this was one thing he was able to control. He looked at the exact spot Meaney had told him where it all had happened. O’Reily shut out the high level of noise around the gym and carefully concentrated on how he was going to set his plan in motion without his true intention ever being revealed.

“O’Reily---I hear you wanted to see me,” Keller advanced towards the corner and said. “Make it quick---I got weights to lift.”

“K-boy---it’s about time. How’s the wife? To be free only to be snatched back into this hellhole---”

“Fuck you. What do you want?”

“So, Beecher figure out it was you who set him up yet?” O’Reily said and played it close to the vest because he needed to get inside the man’s head to put down his plan.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, O’Reily. Your brother’s impending death must have you delusional.”

“Maybe so. Maybe my source got it wrong.”

“There’s no maybe about it. I had nothing to do with Beecher coming back to Oz. I love him,” he said as if it meant something.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You two are bending each other over every chance you get. That’s not my interest.”

“Really?” Keller stepped closer and asked. “You sure you don’t want to join in on the fun? Bending you over would give me so much pleasure.”

O’Reily immediately moved away and said, “Fuck you. I ain’t no fag, Keller.”

“How many times do you have to say that? I could give that tight, pretty ass of yours the ride of its life,” Keller continued to talk as if he was trying to seduce him. “You’d scream and beg me to keep pounding into you.”

“Fuck you! I ain’t Beecher, motherfucker! That shit’s never going to happen.”

“So you say. Life imprisonment is a long sentence.”

Keller disgusted him, but he knew that this was just their normal banter. It mostly meant nothing because both men knew the other’s ways of manipulation and capabilities of persuasion. He wanted to get a rise out of him, but O’Reily was not giving him much to work with. That was not the point of this meeting, and he was not going to be sidetracked by the other man’s talk of sex or his ass. Not this time.

“I may have heard some misinformation about Beecher, but I know what your deal with Schillinger is,” he said to get to his point.

“What deal? What are you saying?”

“Come on, K-boy. You’re not denying this one.”

“What do you want?” Keller asked, with a sadistic look on his face.

“Switch out Beecher’s knife for the real one. Fuck that Nazi cumstain.”

“What’d Schillinger do to you to deserve death?”

“Not a damn thing,” O’Reily answered back, keeping his emotions completely closed off. “Think about it---all your problems with Beecher come from Schillinger. Taking him out of the equation would guarantee that Beecher is left alone.”

“And suddenly you care about Toby and me---want to see us live happily ever after in Oz?”

“Don’t give a damn about that. If you partner with Schillinger, you’ll be his bitch.”

“Hey, I’m nobody’s bitch. That’s no how it’s going to be,” Keller said with the same hard look on his face.

“You and I know that. The other inmates won’t see Schillinger as your bitch if you give him the real knife to kill Beecher like you told him you would, though.”

“You’re manipulating some angle, O’Reily. You want Schillinger out of the way.”

“Would I cry if he was? No. But I’m telling you that it would be better for you and Beecher if he was gone,” the Irishman said and knew he had already laid the foundation of his plan inside Keller’s head.

“I’m going to lift weights. Toby’ll get what’s coming to him.”

They were both going to have to wait and see what the outcome of this conversation was going to be. O’Reily watched him walk away and thought about how the Nazi prick and his cronies had jumped Alvarez a few days ago against the fence he was again looking at. He had seen the Latino with the bandage on his forehead but they had not gotten another chance to talk, since the transition from Glynn to Querns was still taking place.

It was all about revenge. Schillinger was not going to get away with what he did to the Latino, and he was not going to get away with what he had done to Cyril when his brother had first come to Oz. He had not forgotten how the bastard and the other Aryans had raped his little brother in a closet. O’Reily was sure that Keller had listened to his words and was going to betray Schillinger because of his love for Beecher. If that was not the case, the Irishman was going to find another opportunity to airhole the Aryan leader.

It felt different to him that he was not the one serving lunch anymore, but was on the other side in the line. O’Reily had worked in the kitchen for such a long time that he never thought he was going to get out. It was not the place for him anymore. He collected his tray of food and walked over to where Neema was. A quick turn of his head and the Irishman noticed his father waiting in the end of the line. The man looked miserable and worn down---like he always did.

“Hey, yo, dad---check it out,” O’Reily said as he put his arm around Neema’s shoulder. “Look at that, huh? Look at me and my new best friend.”

Neema shrugged him off and said, “Don’t use me to taunt your father.”

“Why not, man? You hate him as much as I do.”

“No, I never knew the man. I just heard the stories from your mom.”

“Yeah, well, she’s just got the abridged version. I’ve got thirty-five years of gory details,” he said and then looked at his father passing through the cafeteria line. “You fucking asshole. What’s that word called for when a son kills his father?”

“Patricide,” Neema said.

“Yeah, patricide. I like the sound of that.”

Neema gave him a strict look but he ignored it because he was engrossed in the hatred of his father. He wanted to devote more of his time to helping people stay alive in Oz, but not Seamus O’Reily. The man was poison---everything he touched withered and died. Both his sons were going to die in prison and O’Reily hated him for that. He picked up his tray to dump it because he was no longer hungry. Alvarez had eyes on him throughout the entire scene.

A twisted pleasure filled his insides as he walked to work at the infirmary. News had quickly gotten out that Neema had been taken to the hole because he had stabbed Seamus O’Reily. The Irishman knew that his father had picked the fight because Neema was against violence. O’Reily only wished that the job were completed. He entered the hospital and saw his father recuperating there after Dr. Nathan had stitched him up.

“Guess you’re not as quick as you used to be, huh, dad?” the Irishman mocked the man.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

“Hey, pal, I got no interest in changing you bed pan. I just thought you should know that tomorrow’s Cyril’s execution and, so far, the courts refuse to step in.”

“Mm-hmm,” he uncaringly said.

“You really don’t give a shit, do you?”

“I don’t give a shit about anything I can’t control.”

“Then you must not care about anything,” O’Reily continued to provoke his father.

“Will you get the fuck away from me?” Seamus O’Reily yelled out at him.

“Ryan!” Dr. Nathan called from behind him.

“Yo.”

“Come here, please,” she said and he walked over to her. “You tell me you want to be an orderly to help people?”

“Not him. Hey, tomorrow Cyril’s going to die, all right?” he shouted in anger. “You can trace back all the shit that’s come down and dear old fucking dad is at the center.”

“Maybe so, but it still doesn’t justify what you’re plotting, Ryan---no more than it did when you had Cyril kill my husband!” she said loudly, but then restrained her voice. “I watch you care for your brother, and you’re so warm and so sweet with him, and then you get this look in your eye---this dangerous, terrifying look. There are moments when I forgive you for what you’ve done, and others when I can’t. And, I want to forgive you, Ryan. Help me to do that.”

“How?” O’Reily almost whispered.

“Promise me that no harm will come to your father. Please. Let’s just both put the past in the past.”

He wanted to say something but the no words came and he instead walked away. The man had been the cause of so many bad things in his life that it was hard to let go of all that and have a normal relationship again. O’Reily slammed his fists onto the counter when he knew his anger was getting the better of him. His father had been in Oz for only a few days and already, he had caused so many problems. Neema did not deserve to be in the hole.

The Irishman could not look after his father and guarantee his protection as he had done with Cyril in the past. He did not want to babysit anyone anymore. Also, his time with Alvarez might be compromised if he constantly had to keep an eye on Seamus O’Reily. Dr. Nathan was serious though, and he did not want to lose his job in the hospital. O’Reily wanted her forgiveness---wanted it for Cyril before it was too late. He ran his hand under water because his knuckle had slightly busted open when he hit the countertop.

The hour was creeping up and his mind was reeling with the possibilities of life without his little brother. Oz would become unbearable without having his brother at his side. O’Reily was slightly dazed and numb that this was going to happen. He sat on the bed next to Cyril in death row and remained quiet as he thought of a way to get his brother out of it. Nothing had worked and he did not want to accept that it was all over.

“Lopresti told me dad got stabbed,” he heard Cyril say.

“Don’t worry about dad.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Dr. Nathan’s taking good care of him,” O’Reily said with bitterness in his tone.

“I like Dr. Nathan,” Cyril smiled and said.

“Me too. Me too.”

“That man’s taking notes again.”

“I told you, that’s because this time you’re going to get that special ECT treatment,” he continued with the fantasy lie.

“Right. Finally.”

“Showtime,” Lopresti began opening the gate and said.

“Any word from the lawyer?” O’Reily rushed out of the cell to ask his mom, but her face already gave the answer.

“See ya, Ryan,” Cyril said when his brother came behind him and hugged and kissed him.

“Yeah. I’ll see ya.”

His voice choked, but he reserved his emotions as best he could so that his brother would not see him crying again. Cyril had just walked out of his life forever and he was being led to the gym to walk the maze. O’Reily wanted to believe that faith would bring him through this time but, deep down, he knew that this was going to be it. The State Supreme Court did not care enough to overturn the ruling. No one cared.

Ryan O’Reily walked through the maze like a lost soul looking for salvation---looking for a place of comfort and safety. A piece of him was going to die and, despite all his efforts, he was unable to protect his brother from the chair. The path was the wrong one, so he backtracked and started again. He was never going to solve this puzzle and his frustration was getting to him.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder and he turned around to see Dr. Nathan with a sad smile on her face. She touched his chest and looked into his eyes to see all that he had been hiding where Cyril was concerned. All the raw emotions, uncertainty, and blame that he hid from everyone were there. O’Reily closed his eyes because he did not want to appear this weak because he was not. He wondered if the act was done yet.

A pair of lips was on him and he fell into them because he thought it was the right thing to do. Dr. Nathan was the only one there and his body desperately needed comfort so he kissed her back. Alvarez played with his mind, but that was impossible right now. The Irishman pulled back when she did but did not look her in the eyes because he had felt practically nothing from it.

It was soft and warm, and felt good, but there was hardly any comfort behind it. Not the way it felt when Alvarez kissed him. Dr. Nathan smiled and stayed with him for a few more moments before she left him alone again. That was when he knew that he had no more feelings for her. O’Reily did not love her anymore, and had no desire to be with her. Working in the ward was a plan hatched to get him and Alvarez together.

O’Reily knew his time was almost up---he would have to return to Em City soon. He was not prepared to face anyone, even the Latino. His emotions about his brother’s death were so dangerous and uncontrolled that the rage inside him scared him. Faith had done nothing for him in his hour of need. The Irishman was tired and hated what his life had become. He could not spend the rest of his days bound to Oz---only to end up dead, like Cyril.

The hack had brought him back to work at the infirmary because he did not want to go back to Em City. All the questions and eyes looking at him would have driven him out of his mind. He needed to keep himself busy and not think about it. His brother was dead. Cyril was finally free from Oz, but it had cost him his life. O’Reily bottled up all the emotions inside and got to work. He never wanted to feel them again, but ignoring them would be the biggest disgrace to Cyril’s memory.

“Ryan. Ryan,” his father called out to him as he passed by. “I want to see Cyril.”

“You’re too late.”

“I did the best I could for him, and you, growing up. I tried. But I never caught a break. Nothing ever went my way---not one single time,” he said. “And the day that you sister---died was the day I found out Tessie had cancer. I was scared.”

O’Reily looked at him and said, “You were afraid?”

“I don’t want to die. Don’t leave me, Ryan, please, son. I don’t want to die alone. Please,” Seamus O’Reily said as extended his hand.

He took it and sat on the side of the bed before he said, “Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen. I’m not going anywhere, dad.”

He knew Dr. Nathan’s eyes were on him as he made peace with his father because it was what she wanted. O’Reily was tired of the fighting, the bad blood, and the hatred spewing inside him. Now, he only had his father and mother in his life so he had to protect them both. Doubts clouded his mind because he was unable to protect Cyril, but he had to brush them aside and focus on getting his father better.

It was as if nothing had happened just hours earlier. The play was premiering in a few minutes and all the inmates were packing into the cafeteria and taking their seats for it to begin. The Irishman sat in the crowd and remained mostly to himself, but it was hard because the noise level was almost through the roof. Some inmates had told him sorry for what happened to Cyril, but O’Reily always remained guarded because he was still a target in here.

Behind the curtain was chaos as people were scrambling to get their costumes on or doing some last minute practicing of their lines. Alvarez sat by the ropes that drew the curtains open and close with a headache and nerves inside his stomach. A flare of anger flashed in his cool brown eyes when he saw Schillinger pass him, but remembered where he was. He was not going to retaliate---not yet anyway.

The fucking D-tab he had taken earlier in the day was still eating away inside his system and he felt slightly incoherent and sluggish. Bits and pieces of the first night he had taken it still eluded him, but he knew the gist of what had happened and was disgusted with himself. Destiny had made him forget about Ruiz and being a free man, though. It had also made him jack off and put on a sexual show for that prick drag queen Torquemada. He was lost in the drugs.

“Miguel, are you okay?” Fitzgerald came over to him and asked.

“Just a little opening night jitters. A little cotton---cotton mouth,” Alvarez responded in a dry and parched voice.

“Okay. You set?” she asked.

“Let’s make theatrical history,” Keller confidently said.

“All right. You guys ready?”

“I’m so excited I’m going to bust my buttons,” Stanton said.

“Don’t do that---it’s a rental,” Fitzgerald easily warned. “All right, everybody, we worked hard, so now’s the time to have fun. So, if you flub a line, just keep going. If you miss a cue, don’t panic. I’m very proud of all of you. Break a leg.”

“Have a good show, Beecher,” Schillinger said and the two shook hands.

“Miguel, dim the house lights.”

He went to the main control board to turn down the lights of the cafeteria and put a bright spotlight on the stage. Destiny made his mouth dry and his head hurt far worse than when the Aryans had jumped him in the gym. The only thing he was sure of was that Torquemada had not touched him---not until the very end when Alvarez felt the finger on his stomach. Applause was heard as soon as the lights went down and Fitzgerald stepped out in front of the curtain to give the opening remarks.

“Good evening, and welcome to the premier production of the Oswald Players,” she greeted the audience before her. “Before we begin, there are a few changes in the program. The second Weird Sister will be played by Reggie Rawls instead of Chico Guerra. Banquo will be played by Tom Smeeding instead of Agamemnon Busmalis. And, Norman Duttweiler will play King Duncan instead of Burr Redding. I would also like to say that Warden Leo Glynn was a great supporter of bringing the arts to Oz, and so, we dedicate tonight’s performance in his memory, and also, to the memory of Cyril O’Reily. Thank you.”

The audience clapped and an inmate said, “Oh. They spent some money on this shit.”

“‘When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?’” Poet said.

“‘When the hurly-burly’s done, When the battle’s lost and won.’” Rawls said.

“‘That will be the set of sun.’” Stanton said.

“‘Where the place?’” Poet said.

“‘Upon the heath.’” Rawls said.

“‘There to meet with Macbeth.’” Stanton said and all three laughed evilly.

The play progressed and he was feeling weaker and his body drained. Destiny was sapping his strength, but he wanted another one. Alvarez shuddered and his insides flared with rage when he thought about what he was going to have to do this time to get his hands on more D-tabs. If this kept up, Torquemada was going to own him---that thought was far worse than anything else was. He needed O’Reily. The Latino closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall.

“‘Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear: And Chastise with the valor of my tongue, All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid---’,” an inmate acted out.

“Miguel!” Fitzgerald tapped his arm and his eyes opened.

“‘---doth seem to have thee crown’d withal’,” he continued.

O’Reily watched but felt guilty because Cyril was not there with him. He was not paying much attention to the play but rather thought of his last moments with his brother---in that fucking cell where he had kissed Cyril on the head for the last time. He wanted there to be peace between him and his father, but they had been fighting for so long. The Irishman owed it to himself, and to Cyril, to fix the relationship he had with Seamus O’Reily.

“‘What is thy name?’” Kenaniah said.

“‘Thou’lt be afraid to hear it.’” Schillinger replied.

“‘No: though thou call’st thyself a hotter name, Than any is in hell.’” Kenaniah said.

“‘My name’s Macbeth.’” Schillinger said and they started a fight.

“Toby, I’ve got a plan---a way to get Schillinger out of our life forever,” Keller said when they were backstage.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Beecher adamantly said.

“Toby---”

“Just give me my prop.”

Keller gazed at him and handed him a very real shank that was disguised as a harmless prop. He had taken O’Reily’s words for what they were and had made the decision to betray Schillinger. No one knew, but everyone would see it after the next scene played out. He watched as Beecher prepared himself to go on stage and act out his part. Revenge against the Aryan leader was going to be theirs.

“‘Thou wast born of woman. But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Brandish’d by man that’s of a woman born.’” Schillinger said after he killed Kenaniah’s character.

“‘Turn, hellhound, turn!’” Beecher entered behind him and said.

“‘Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back: my soul is too much charg’d, with blood of thine already.’” Schillinger turned around and said.

“‘I have no words, My voice is in my sword: thou bloodier villain, Than terms can give thee out!’” Beecher said and they began to fight.

“Stick him! Stick him!” an inmate yelled out from the crowd.

“You’re a dead man, sweet pea!” Schillinger whispered.

They broke apart and the Aryan kept violently swiping his knife as if it were the real one. Keller came over to the side of the stage where Alvarez had his eyes closed and watched the fight taking place. The prison erupted with cheers and coaxing for either side as Beecher tried to avoid him. Their arms met and were forced over their heads. Beecher managed to free one of his hands and plunged the real knife into Schillinger’s chest---into his heart. 

“That cocksucker,” the Nazi said as he fell forward on the stage and started bleeding profusely.

“Dr. Nathan!” Beecher screamed out into the audience.

“That motherfucker’s dead!” Kenaniah sat up from the stage floor and said.

“Hey, get back! Get the fuck back!” a guard yelled to try to control the crowd.

The lights came up and the inmates erupted as McManus and the officers tried to control the crowd. Fitzgerald ran onto the stage, followed by Dr. Nathan, who went to examine the body. The cafeteria was already being cleared out and Querns had made his way onto the stage as well. Beecher looked at Keller and saw the malevolent smile on the other man’s face. This was his plan.

O’Reily looked on and remained under the radar as he fought through people and avoided hacks to get backstage and to Alvarez. Keller had followed through with the plan he had planted inside his head---Schillinger was dead. He hid behind the curtain and caught a glimpse of the body as he snuck behind the rest of the curtains and located the Latino near the control board. He looked so out of it and his eyes were barely functioning.

“Hey---hey, Miguel. What’s wrong with you?” the Irishman whispered after he walked over to the other man.

“Ryan? What are you doing? Why is everyone leaving?” Alvarez looked around and said.

“Miguel---are you okay? Shit,” he said when the hacks started coming backstage.

“Come on O’Reily, Alvarez. Back to Em City,” Murphy instructed them.

The fuck got what he deserved and O’Reily felt no remorse for what happened. They were all in lockdown until the whole situation was sorted out and the Irishman only looked up at Alvarez’s pod to see what was going on with him. When he had seen him backstage, the man looked like he was sick or on drugs. They had not had much of a chance to talk because of Cyril’s execution, but O’Reily missed him. He missed him now.

After a day, Querns had ruled Schillinger’s death an accident the lockdown had been over. O’Reily sat in the quad and looked upstairs at Keller and Beecher arguing---practically all the prisoners were watching them. Their relationship was so public that it was disgusting. The Irishman could never imagine himself and Alvarez arguing in public like that. Things escalated to physical and Keller grabbed Beecher around his neck and forcibly kissed him.

“Beecher, no!” Keller screamed as he threw himself from the second floor.

“No!” everyone heard Beecher yell.

Keller fell from the second floor and instantly broke his neck. Beecher screamed out in horror as he watched Keller slip away and Alvarez, O’Reily, and Poet examined the body and looked at him as the alarm rung and everyone was sent back into their pods because the prison was in lockdown again. Murphy took Beecher away as the rest of them were pushed back into confinement. O’Reily could not believe what was happening---first Schillinger, and now Keller.

It was definitely going to be harder to give the hacks the slip when he and Alvarez wanted to meet up, and he was hoping that McManus would transfer him to the hospital ward as soon as possible. He was getting a weird feeling from Torquemada. Every time he had bothered to look at the flamboyant queen, he either was close to or had his eyes on the Latino. O’Reily had to talk to him to see what was going on.

Early in the afternoon, a blaring mechanical voice came over the intercom informing everyone to evacuate the facility. Prisoners and guards alike scrambled to get out of Oz while no one really knew what was going on. O’Reily had to run all the way to the infirmary to help his dad because he was still recovering from the stab wound. Everybody was rushing and he did not have a chance to see Alvarez.

“Proceed to level one---emergency evacuation. Proceed---” the voice said.

“Where are we going to take them?” Officer Murphy asked from the command tower.

“Beats the shit out of me. All I’ve been told is the move is temporary. We’ll be back, someday,” McManus said back and looked around at his creation.

“Emergency evacuation,” the mechanical voice went on.

The Irishman made it to the hospital and grabbed a wheelchair to put his father on. The guard rushed them outside to awaiting busses. Prisoners were tethered to each other in clusters of ten as they were all being forced into many awaiting busses. O’Reily wheeled his father outside and up a ramp to secure him inside the vehicle. A hack grabbed his hand and tied him to a group of prisoners to keep him from escaping. Most of them still did not know what was going on.

“Come on, move it! Let’s go!” a hack ordered them to hurry up and load the busses from outside.

His eyes looked around the bus as it pulled off but they did not find who he was looking for. Alvarez was not on the same bus as him. The Latino had to be safe because McManus or Querns were not going to leave anyone behind. O’Reily thought about the fight between Beecher and Keller and wondered if all these events were somehow related. Either way, they were all going to get answers eventually as to what had just happened. He sat back as the bus drove them away from Oz---no one knowing where their destination was, or if Oz would ever reopen. The Irishman thought about his brother---and he thought about Miguel Alvarez.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

_**It had been twelve days** before the state bioterrorism unit had deemed it safe for Oz to reopen and reestablish itself as the maximum security prison it was. The governmental unit had worked nonstop since the emergency evacuation to contain the spillage and prevent it from spreading any further than it had. Multiple hazmat crews had been called in to disinfect the walls and the very air inside the prison. The threat had been more dangerous than anyone had initially thought._

_The mailroom had been the epicenter of the poisonous dust and the bodies had to be properly cleaned before they were moved. All the Aryans that had worked in the mailroom that day along with two supervising correctional officers had dropped dead and had never known why. Most of the days had been spent in that room containing the vile powder and securing it for proper disposal. The entire prison had to be sprayed repeatedly to kill all the toxins in the walls, floor, furniture, and air._

_Prisoners had been housed together in numerous separate facilities and according to whom they had been tethered to when they had evacuated. Most of them had heard from local news programs about the poisonous anthrax scare that had shut Oz down for so many days. Some had been placed at Conley Institute and many others had been restricted to other, smaller prison systems in the tri-county area._

_It had been an uncomfortable cluster of days and many of the inmates had wanted to return to where many of them had considered home. They had wanted everything to go back to normal and for life to return to the routine at Oz. Settling back into everyday life had to be the top priority of the inmates as well as the correctional staff. Everything had seemed so small and insignificant when they all had the same goal when they had fled from Oz---survival._

 

 **The cafeteria smelled** of disinfected air and cleaning solution as the entire inmate population sat and listened to Querns address them on the status of Oz. Most of the staff sat behind him and the hacks were roaming between the tables to make sure there was no trouble. Many of the prisoners were agitated and wanted to get back to their cells or pods to see if any of their belongings were taken. No one wanted to listen to fucking Querns.

“And so, nothing has changed. Oz has been given a bill of good health by the governmental bioterrorism unit and everyday operations will resume as normal,” the warden stood behind the podium and said. “The officers will also be cracking down on drug use. If you are caught with drugs---it is an automatic trip to the hole without any questions asked.”

“That’s bullshit!” an inmate yelled out and the inmates screamed out boos and curse words.

“Silence!” Querns towered over them and said. “I’m cleaning up this prison, and I will not take any shit from any of you. If you do what you’re supposed to do and are where you’re supposed to be, we won’t have any problems. Now, most of your possessions have been thoroughly disinfected and thus, have been saved from being disposed. Maybe you’ll think about how uncomfortable it was for all of you when you were being passed through the system for the last twelve days before one of you try something like this again. Don’t fuck up!”

After, Ryan O’Reily looked through his belongings to see if they had taken anything, but everything was there. The past days had been bad for him because he had been stuck with the likes of Pancamo and Poet rather than his father or Alvarez. His father, like the rest of the ward patients, had been taken to the Benchley Memorial to receive treatment and that was where they had waited out the rest of the time.

On top of it all, he missed Cyril like crazy. Thoughts of his brother had consumed him since they had been forced from Oz and he felt like a fucking walking zombie. Oz was slowly taking everything away from him and it was maddening. The Irishman left the pod behind and walked up the stairs to McManus’s office. He had changed his mind and wanted to talk to the unit manager.

“McManus---I need a minute,” he said as he stood in the doorway.

“I don’t got a minute, O’Reily. Whatever it is, the answer’s “no’.”

“Hey, I want my dad to come to Em City. I want him in my pod.”

“What?” McManus looked at him and said. “We had this discussion before and came to an agreement.”

“Shit’s changed. I have to look out for the old man. Come on, McManus.”

“No. No. No. And especially not with Neema back here.”

“I don’t give a fuck about him,” O’Reily said. “My dad’s the only one I got left in Oz.”

“Look, I know Cyril’s death was hard on you---and your mom, but you can’t use it as a bargaining chip to get whatever you want,” the unit manager told him. “Seamus O’Reily has already returned to Gen Pop. That’s it.”

“Fuck you, motherfucker!” he angrily said. “I wouldn’t use Cyril’s memory like that, bastard!”

“All right---this is over. Officer, take O’Reily out.”

“Fuck you, McManus! Fucking cocksucker!”

The officer came in but he was already out the door and heading back to his pod. He had to figure out a way to get his father into Em City, but McManus seemed adamant about wanting him to stay in Gen Pop. O’Reily started changing his clothes because he had to get to work in the ward soon. Alvarez was nowhere on the floor. He had to be in his pod and O’Reily wanted to talk to him but now was not the time.

Most of the patients had fully recovered at Benchley Memorial during their twelve-day visit, but there were a few that still needed extra medical treatment. O’Reily walked around to make sure everything was good and had constant thoughts about Cyril’s last moments---how scared it had to have been for him. He was staring off in the medicine room and heard someone call him.

“Ryan---Ryan,” Dr. Nathan said to him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah---yeah,” he cleared his throat and said. “Sorry.”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Okay.”

“Ryan---about what happened in the gym the day your brother was executed,” she uncomfortably began to say. “I did not mean for that to happen.”

“Why not?” O’Reily asked but was not sure why he did.

“It’s unethical, Ryan. I am a doctor here and you are a prisoner. That line never should have been crossed.”

“So, why did you do it?”

“I don’t know. I saw you in pain and wanted to comfort you. I know how much you love Cyril,” Dr. Nathan said.

“He’s free. He’s fucking free.”

“I know. Ryan---I’m sorry I kissed you. I don’t want you to think I’m leading you on in any way. I guess I had a weak moment too. It won’t happen again.”

“You were there for me when no one else could be, Gloria,” the Irishman said. “Hey---I appreciate that. I know your ethics and morals drive you. I like that about you.”

“You said ‘like’.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. This won’t affect your working here, will it?”

“No,” he said. “I still want to be here.”

“Okay,” Dr. Nathan said and smiled. “Good.”

“Hey, I need to ask a favor from you.”

“What is it?”

“Talk to McManus about letting my dad stay in Em City,” O’Reily said and hoped she could get the job done.

“I don’t know, Ryan---”

“Please. He’s the only family I have left in Oz.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

Feelings that were supposed to be there were no longer there---both of them had started feeling it. O’Reily knew that he did not love her anymore and the kiss in the maze had only cemented it. He had tried for so many years to get her to return his affections and, when she did, he had not embraced it in any way. The kiss had come to mean nothing to him, but it was going to be tied to his memories of Cyril forever.

Dr. Nathan had noticed his obvious words and he wondered why she had made a conscious effort to bring it to his attention. When they had kissed, there was definitely more passion coming from her side than his. O’Reily’s mind was so overwhelmed with grief, loss, and guilt that he did not feel much of anything else. He wondered if Dr. Nathan wanted it to remain as professional as she told him it had to be. He walked out to the main room and saw Alvarez being escorted in by a hack.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked the hack.

“Says he’s throwing up and feeling dehydrated.”

“Hey, Alvarez, you all right? Get on the bed over there,” O’Reily asked and then instructed him.

O’Reily went back to work as Dr. Nathan and a nurse examined the Latino to see what was wrong with him. His face looked pale and his eyes watery when the guard had brought him in. This was the first time in almost two weeks they were close enough to talk, but he could not say anything until Dr. Nathan had left him. She prescribed him a light dose of medication and kept him for a few hours of observation before she got back to work at her desk.

“Hey, how are you doing, loco?” the Irishman walked over and quietly asked when all the commotion had faded.

“I should be asking you that.”

“Hanging in there. Missing him like fucking crazy,” he said and a sad smile hung from his lips.

“I know, víbora---I know,” Alvarez said in a faint voice.

“Get some rest. You sound out of it.”

“No. Stay here and talk to me.”

He looked around and saw the few other patients resting and not paying any attention to them. The nurse had left on her break and Dr. Nathan was busy with the paperwork on her desk. Anyway, having a small conversation with another inmate did not mean much of anything in the infirmary. So their bases were covered. O’Reily was worried because he had not seen Alvarez like this in a long time. Then it hit him hard as to what was going on.

“Shit, Alvarez, you’re on Destiny, aren’t you?” he lowly said.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the Latino tried to defend himself.

“Fucking A. It’s true, then. What the hell are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Alvarez, you’ve been clean since before we started the partnership. That fag Torquemada did this, didn’t he?” O’Reily said with a flare of anger in his voice.

“He doesn’t make me take them. I want to take them.”

“Do you fucking hear yourself?”

“I’m going to die in Oz---Ruiz is going to make sure of that. All my hard work was for nothing. Why should I remain on the straight and narrow anymore?” Alvarez said, but hated himself for it. “That was a fucking joke.”

“Maybe, but you’re a better partner when your head’s clear. I don’t want a drughead for a partner. I’ve had many of them---and you see how they all turned out,” he said and tried to make himself clear. “That cocksucker Torquemada.”

“He got nothing to do with this.”

“He’s your goddamn podmate---supplies you with the tabs. Why are you defending him? What the hell goes on there at night? Everyone in the damn prison knows he has some sick obsession with you.”

“Fuck you!” Alvarez became incredibly defensive and snapped. “Nothing’s going on.”

O’Reily had been so caught up with Cyril that he was not paying full attention to what had been going on with the Latino and that queen. He was sure that Querns’s warning did not deter Torquemada---or any other slingers for that matter. Oz was the same old shit over and over. There were just going to be newer and more creative ways of buying and selling drugs. Alvarez had been right. Torquemada was going to be a big problem if his D-tabs were this powerful.

“If you’re caught with drugs, you’re going in the hole. Remember what the warden said.”

“I don’t have anything on me. In me---that’s a different story,” Alvarez said and let out a light laugh.

“This isn’t funny, Miguel. I’m worried about you.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s like riding a bike---my body will get used to it again,” he easily said.

“I don’t fucking want your body getting used to that shit,” the Irishman retorted.

“This was the first one I had since we left Oz. He wasn’t with me where I went.”

“Dammit. This is a problem,” O’Reily said, mainly to himself.

“I don’t think so. It’s okay, víbora---be cool. You want to give me a kiss?”

“Shut the fuck up!” he quickly said. “Look around at where you are.”

“I’m kidding. Geez---lighten up,” the Latino smiled again.

“I have to get back to work.”

“Hey, don’t be mad. I’m sorry about Cyril.”

“AIDS ward tomorrow at three.”

He left the bedside as soon as another inmate came in complaining of stomachache. He was angry and jealous at what had been going on with Alvarez and Torquemada. He did not want a drugged up partner because Alvarez’s sharp senses and ideas would be compromised while he was under the influence. And he became more violently and uncontrollably dangerous. O’Reily did not want to imagine that fag’s fingers, or anything else, being near Alvarez. The Latino would never let him get that close, anyway. His mind started thinking of possibilities to get rid of him and his D-tabs.

The Irishman watched with contempt during lunch as he saw Torquemada attempting to hang all over Alvarez. The Latino was mainly brushing him off because he looked uncomfortable having the flamboyant man anywhere near him. O’Reily waited for his father to pass through the line and to sit with him. Their relationship was still fragile, but he was the only family he had left in Oz.

“Hey, dad,” he said as Seamus O’Reily sat across from him. “You healed up?”

“Yeah. That asswipe still needs to be in the hole,” the man said and he looked a few tables away at Neema.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s not a problem as long as you’re not a problem.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Come on, dad. Neema didn’t attack you,” O’Reily said and drank some juice. “You and I know that. Forget about him.”

“Fuck you! That bastard stabbed me---tried to kill me. We have to get revenge.”

“No. No revenge. You brought the shank.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” his father said with a nasty attitude.

“Dad, calm down. I’m trying to get you in Em City with me. McManus won’t go for it if he knows you’re plotting revenge against Neema,” he said and was losing his patience. 

“So, I can come to Em City?”

“Not yet. I’m working on it. Just fucking lay low and stay by yourself until then.”

“How long will that be?”

“I don’t know. Give me some time,” O’Reily frustratingly said.

“That nigger’s dead once I get in there,” Seamus O’Reily said because revenge was his plan.

“Geez, dad---shut the fuck up about that!”

His father was already driving him crazy and he questioned whether he really wanted to share a pod with him or not. Despite everything, Neema had been good to him and Cyril and he did not hold any ill will towards the man. O’Reily left the table to dump his tray and left the cafeteria because he had to get away from the old man. He had seen the Italians slinging tits during lunch. The hacks were stupid---they were never going to catch anything. He had to find a way to keep tits more prominent than Destiny. Torquemada was never going to control Em City---not while he was around.

 

 **Darkness blanketed all** of outside as he stood in front of the glass door and looked out at the quiet floor below him. He could barely see O’Reily’s pod, but he knew the other man was not looking back. Alvarez felt so lonely and his head still felt light from the combination of Destiny and the medicine Dr. Nathan had given him on his earlier visit to the hospital. He had not taken another D-tab since then, much to Torquemada’s disappointment. He wanted to stop, but he wanted to forget, too. He wanted to forget more than anything else.

“You want a D-tab to get the party started, honey?” the queen came behind him and whispered.

“No. Back away. I told you not to get that close.”

“You’re so sexy when you tell me what to do. It is already happening, Miguelito.”

“What is? And don’t fucking call me Miguelito,” Alvarez seriously warned and did not bother to take his eyes off the pod across the quad from his.

“My precious babies are well on their way to becoming the lifeblood of Oz. Just like I told you they would.”

“Good for you.”

“No---good for us.”

“There is no us,” he dismissed.

“Come on,” Torquemada said in that slinky voice of his. “I tasted you. No one else in here can say that. I have a piece of you inside me, and, I treasure it, darling.”

The words rested with him and he realized that they were true. Torquemada had tasted his cum---no one inside Oz had done that, not even Ryan O’Reily. Alvarez knew the flamboyant man had thought that act had given him some kind of power over him, but nothing had been further from the truth. The Latino was never going to let the sick fuck touch or do anything else with him. No amount of D-tabs inside Oz could make him be attracted to Torquemada.

“Give me a D-tab.”

“Now, now---where are you manners? What do you say, dumpling?”

He gritted his teeth and said, “Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely, how can I refuse?” Torquemada said and produced the pill. “Let the party begin.”

“No--no party. And I’m not jacking off for you, either. That’s not happening again.”

“Aw---ruin my fun. I like it when you touch yourself for me,” he said as he stroked Alvarez’s strong back. “I like watching your body move as you breathe---your every muscle clench and tighten as you climax by your own hand.”

“Get off! I’m not a fucking fag.”

“No, but I told you I just want to be you. Be all of you.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want any part of your sexually twisted games,” the Latino said and felt the drug invading his system.

“You’re in a mood.”

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

Alvarez stopped talking because he did not want any part of the conversation anymore. Torquemada was unrelenting in his attempts to seduce him with D-tabs. He wanted no part of the man or his agenda. The queen gave up and went to bed, and he remained looking out across the quad and to one pod in particular. It was lifeless, but Alvarez knew his brain wanted him to see more than that.

There was a growing rift between him and O’Reily, but he did not know why. Things had been strange between them and Torquemada was selfishly taking up more on his time. He started to feel the similar sensations on his skin and his head being lost in a cloud of thick mist. The Latino wanted to feel connected to him again---feel that real touch that D-tabs falsely made him believe he was experiencing.

The next morning was fuzzy and blurry inside his head as he sat in the quad across from Torquemada. Destiny was still fucking with his brain and perception and he did not even respond when the queen was talking to him. Alvarez was dipping lower and lower into the seductive grip of D-tabs. He did not want this---did not want his life to go to waste this way. But, there was no hope left in his world. The parole board would make sure he stayed in Oz and, as hard as he tried, the good things he tried to accomplish would be marred by Ruiz’s blind hatred of him.

“Alvarez, McManus wants you in his office,” a hack said to him and walked away.

“Whatever could he want with you?” Torquemada asked.

“I don’t know.”

He got up and felt his head spinning---all of Em City was spinning. He waited for his head to settle down before he slowly walked up the stairs towards the office. Alvarez knew he had to pull himself together or McManus would know something was wrong with him. No one understood how crushing it was to have Ruiz keep him chained to Oz because of a personal vendetta.

“Miguel---come in, come in,” McManus said after he stood up from his desk.

“What’s going on?”

“Sit. We need to talk.”

“Okay,” Alvarez said and collapsed onto a nearby chair.

“Hey, are you all right?”

“I’m okay. What you got, McManus?”

“Well, Cathy Jo Cutler, she’s---she’s dead, Miguel.”

He sat up on the chair and said, “Shit. How?”

“Gunshot to the head. They found her body about a week ago.”

“Fuck. She didn’t deserve that shit. It’s all because of me she ended up like this.”

“What do you mean?” the unit manager asked.

“Nothing. Never mind. Is that it?”

“There’s more. She never filed the legal papers you signed---giving her possession of her husband’s property.”

“I never signed any papers,” the Latino told him.

“Why?”

“She said she needed more time to think---about everything.”

Schillinger had made good on his word to stop Cathy Jo Cutler from visiting him anymore. He had known that she was going to be taken care of, but it hurt a little now that McManus made the news real. Alvarez fought hard to push Destiny out of his mind because he knew that McManus was already suspicious of him. Even after his death, the bastard was still a soulless prick.

“That means that all the property is still yours, then.”

“I don’t want it,” the Latino said. “It was supposed to go to her. If I had signed the papers then she would be alive now. I don’t want it.”

“Miguel, Miguel, you couldn’t have known that this was going to happen.”

“But I did. I can’t keep it.”

McManus sighed and said, “Okay, look---if you had known this was going to happen, don’t you think Cathy Jo would’ve wanted you to have the stuff? Think about it.”

“Didn’t think about it that way.”

“It could be a way for you to honor her memory.”

“Maybe---”

“Are you sure you’re all right? You look out of it.”

“Fine,” Alvarez almost impatiently replied.

“Okay. The state will need you to sign a few legal documents to transfer title names and bank account names. None of this actually happened the first time since you wanted to give her the stuff.”

“There’s a bank account, too? What exactly am I getting here?”

McManus looked through papers and said, “Let’s see---well, you already know about the 1942 Indian motorcycle. There’s his 1987 Ford Mustang and the title to his house, which is about half an hour away from Oz. You have access to a total of three bank accounts with upwards of two hundred and fifty thousand combined in all of them.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” he said and was stunned. “All that’s mine now?”

“You are the sole beneficiary. A representative from the state department will be here in a few days to finalize all the paperwork.”

“Where the hell did Cutler get that kind of money?”

“I’m not sure---maybe investing?” the unit manager offered his opinion. “Don’t worry---the money is legitimate. Everything is legitimate.”

“Can you keep this here? I don’t want anyone knowing anything.”

“Done.”

The high of Destiny was wearing off but his stomach still felt nauseous as he waited for the time when he could sneak away. Torquemada was busy with the other queers in the computer room so he did not see when Alvarez asked a hack for a favor and bribed him to get it done. He was outside within a few moments and made his way to Unit F and the closet that was there.

Nerves crept inside him, but he was excited to see O’Reily and spend some alone time with him. Even if they were just planning future moves, Alvarez needed that closeness that D-tabs had tricked him into believing was there. Nothing was there but his own raw emotions and the predatory eyes of Torquemada. He did not want the man---he did not even want to share the same pod with the queen. D-tabs had given him hope, though, and he needed hope---even if it was all false.

“O’Reily,” he called out when he entered the storage room.

“It’s about time you got here,” the Irishman said as he emerged from behind a shelf. “What the hell took you so long?”

“Had to bribe a hack to let me out. My first plan fell through.”

“You sure that bitch didn’t keep you busy?”

“I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to think about him,” Alvarez sternly said. “Don’t start.”

“What the hell are the other inmates going to think about you, Alvarez? That fag tries to hang himself all over you every chance he gets.”

“Tries. I don’t let him do that shit. He creeps me out. I don’t give a fuck about these assholes or what they think.”

“Then why is he always around you---always trying to be all over you?”

“I don’t control what he does,” he said back.

“Why are you popping D-tabs?” O’Reily questioned him. “Why you letting that fucking queen get so close?”

Alvarez moved closer and asked, “You jealous, víbora?”

“I’m not fucking playing around.”

“Neither am I. Don’t be jealous, papa.”

“How can you say this shit to me?” he asked and was getting angrier by the moment. “How can you think that none of this matters? All we have in Oz are perceptions.”

“Because---I’ve never wanted to do this with Torquemada.”

Alvarez said the words and then his lips immediately found the other man’s in a strong and longing kiss. Their bodies had been denied this closeness and warmth for too many days---too many countless hours. Hands felt bodies over clothed fabric and tongues wrestled for supremacy between desolate walls of the prison. He stopped and looked deep into O’Reily’s burning green eyes as if he was searching for something---something that D-tabs could never provide him.

“You’re still the only want I want to do that with,” the Latino honestly said.

“If he becomes too much of a problem, I’ll have to take him out.”

“How?” he asked and stepped back a little. “You know, he’s got Pancamo and the wops in his back pocket. My guess is the niggers are next. He’s doing what he said he would.”

“His arrogance will be his death,” O’Reily cryptically said. “Just like the rest of them. Look at Schillinger.”

“You had something to do with Beecher stabbing him during the play?”

“I followed through with an option that was already there in a guy’s head. All I had to do was sweeten the option I favored more.”

“Keller, right? Why?”

“I know he and the Aryans jumped you in the gym.”

“Shit, man. You did that for me?” Alvarez said because he was unsure of what he was hearing.

“For you, and Cyril, and everyone else in here. That Nazi fuck can’t mess with anyone now.”

“He deserved to die. He put out a hit on Cathy Jo Cutler. She’s dead.”

“Oh,” was all O’Reily could say.

“So, I got all the stuff back.”

“No fucking way. How’d that happen?”

He listened as the Latino filled him in on what McManus had said. It was unbelievable that everything had come back to him and O’Reily was genuinely happy for him. He gave him a kiss to show his happiness, but it soon morphed into some far more passionate and overwhelmingly warm. Tongues were again wrestling and this time, fingers crept under shirts to feel bare skin. Soft mumbles and grunts escaped as both became intimately reacquainted with one another.

“Hey, how are you doing about Cyril?” Alvarez stopped because the other man was still in pain.

“Damn, loco. That just knocked me out of the mood.”

“Sorry. You have this---this haunted look in your eyes. I see it there now. You want to talk?”

“No,” O’Reily definitively said. “Kiss me.”

“I really think we should---”

“No. Not now.”

It was all still so surreal to him and he just wanted to escape and feel that hint of freedom that he felt when he and Alvarez were together. He kissed the other man back hard to show him that he was finished talking and wanted to strengthen their connection. O’Reily was desperate to feel something---anything since Cyril had died. He walked around like a ghost and practically only spoke when he was spoken to.

He grabbed the Latino’s package and rubbed their bodies together as tongues and teeth clashed to form some kind of pleasure. He was so sexually aggressive and Alvarez was confused but turned on at the same time. O’Reily eventually pulled away both their shirts and was working on Alvarez’s pants when he was stopped. Sultry brown eyes connected to dimly lit green ones as if searching. That haunted look had completely taken over and he looked like a broken soul.

“No!” the Irishman preempted him and scolded. “No more talking. I mean it!”

He pushed Alvarez into the wall and continued to taste his lips while his hands quickly got rid of pants. In one quick motion, O’Reily was on his knees and with the other man’s dick in his mouth. The warmth and hotness instantly sent a beaconing light into the maze in his head and he followed it. He wanted something far better than D-tabs could ever provide. And, he would never want to be with Torquemada like this.

O’Reily used his tongue to lick and bathe the head while he struggled to get his aching dick free from its confines. He swallowed more than half of Alvarez’s length and the other man and muttered and cursed in Spanish at the pure gratification his body was receiving. Fingertips stuck into his thighs as his head moved back and forth on the pulsating pole that was invading his mouth.

His naked body was on the floor while they were both sucking and licking the most sensitive areas of the other’s body. The Irishman went behind his dick and snaked out the tip of his tongue to lick and fondle the other man’s balls. Alvarez grunted and the vibrations of his deep voice combined with the hotness of his mouth sent a shock through O’Reily’s dick and up his spine to stimulate his brain. They were both getting so much better at this. It was not something to brag about in here, though.

D-tabs could never make him feel this sexually aroused or replace Ryan O’Reily in his mind. He felt himself close and knew that O’Reily was close too because his dick was throbbing inside his mouth. He closed his eyes and continued to suck on it as if it was his favorite cherry blow pop. He stroked the base as he licked the sensitive head. Alvarez barely had time to move his head before O’Reily’s cum was spilling over his neck and chest.

The Irishman groaned at the release and continued to suck Alvarez’s dick while playing with his balls. One of his hands gripped the base and began jacking him off while his tongue and lips suctioned the head. More precum leaked into his mouth and he lapped and swallowed it. O’Reily tightened the suctioning motion, much to the Latino’s driven pleasure. His body was succumbing to the man that was pleasuring him.

“I’m cumming,” he panted out. “I’m---”

He sucked harder and more forcefully as Alvarez blasted inside his mouth. The sticky liquid coated the inside of his mouth before he began swallowing it down. The Latino was too gone by the gratification and continued assault on his dick initially to notice what was happening. O’Reily nursed on the head as the rest of cum slid down his throat. It tasted more salty than anything else, and his mind was blank as to what he was doing.

He kept sucking with his eyes closed as Alvarez softened inside him mouth. His mind was detached from his body and he was in so much pain that it was unbearable. Cyril’s death had left a gaping hole in his heart and it felt like his whole body was caving in on itself. O’Reily finally caught himself and spit the Latino’s dick out of his mouth. He was mortified by what he believed had just happened. It was impossible.

“Um---” Alvarez said but did not know where to go with it as the other man got off him.

“Shit. Did that just happen? Alvarez, tell me I didn’t---right now!” he was confused and angry with himself.

“Ryan---”

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Hey---hey, let’s talk about it,” Alvarez moved closer to him and said.

“No! No. It happened. That’s it.”

“I’m worried about you. That look you get---”

“Don’t,” O’Reily came back and said as he started to get dressed. “I’m fine.”

“Ryan, talk to me. It’s me---Miguel.”

“Keep me up on Torquemada. You’ll know when the next meet is.”

O’Reily did not bother to look back before he slipped past the door and left Alvarez in thoughts of anxiety and worry over him. He walked as fast as he could away from the storage closet with no destination in mind. He did not need to talk---he did not need help. But, O’Reily had done something he was positive he would never do. The thought of it alone made him sick and he held his stomach as he ran into a nearby bathroom and threw up in the sink. It felt like his body was rejecting Miguel Alvarez.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **A hack had called lights** out about half an hour ago but his eyes were still wide open. His body was highly receptive to the high of his second D-tab. Alvarez touched his chest and it felt like fire extruded from his fingertips and burned into flesh. He mind traveled to that inescapable maze for what seemed like every night now and his body was becoming too used to the drug. He had so easily fallen off the good path he had been taking so long to try to be paroled.

He saw little orbs of lightning crashing and exploding against his skin as his eyes were glazed over. He tried to talk, but his throat was too dry. Everything he had fought for was no longer an option---could no longer be used to define him. When Alvarez was not high on Destiny, he often thought of Julie or Cathy Jo Cutler. Torquemada’s seductive grip extended too far into his body. The man was touching his essence.

“Miguel, love, do you need any help taking off your pants?” the predator sweetly asked.

“Keeping pants on,” his slurred words replied through his dry throat.

“But I see your large and throbbing manhood struggling to be set free. Set it free.”

“No.”

“I can help you.”

“No---”

Torquemada did not take the hint and slowly moved closer to where he was lying on his bed. He looked down at the partially naked man on the lower bunk and his mouth watered to see all of him again. Alvarez did not flinch when he felt pressure next to him on the bed as the man sat there. He had slipped further into the drugs. The goose bumps that covered his arms and chest kept exploding with lightning and he felt every one of them drive into him until Torquemada put a hand on his stomach.

“You are a beautiful god, Miguel,” the queen moved up close to his ears and whispered. “My hands want to touch every part of you at once.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Can I put my hand in your pants, darling?”

“Mm-hmm,” was his unknowing response.

“Let me feel that big boy you have in there, baby.”

The flamboyant man lewdly licked the lobes of Alvarez’s ear while his hand rubbed its way down his abs and into his pants to claim the real prize. He smiled wickedly as he gently squeezed Alvarez’s dick and the man’s body responded by thrusting up to the touch. Torquemada used the tip of his tongue to trace one side of his jaw while both his hands worked on getting rid of Alvarez’s pants.

He moved his face away from that tongue, but was powerless to move the rest of his body away from the grip it was in. The hint was not lost on him and Torquemada instead focused all his energy on stroking Alvarez’s dick as his other hand rubbed against that sexy and tight stomach of his. Small moans passed through his lips and his body clenched at the sensation of being sexually touched and toyed with.

Torquemada’s explicit lips moved down to his chest and planted kisses there before his tongue flickered out and teased a rapidly hardening nipple. The man was completely his for this moment---and, before long, he was going to be his for every second of every day. Teeth hardly grazed against the darkened orb on his chest while the queen’s hand rapidly jacked him off. A false heat created itself and had the Latino fooled in so many ways.

“More. Faster,” Alvarez allowed the drugs to say and his eyes remained closed.

“Anything for you, baby. How about my first kiss?” he tried to further his seduction and said.

“No.”

Friction between them increased as his hand slid up and down the hard and pulsing shaft to bring his king the release his body was begging for. A seductive power came over him to have Alvarez in this position---depending on him for gratification. Torquemada continued licking and biting his nipple until he felt the body under him constrict and grunt out as the Latino came. He was saying a flurry of words in a mixture of the two languages he knew as the queen continued to milk his still hard dick.

“V---víb,” he tried to say, but the word and thought was shooting too fast in his dazed head. “Víb---ora.”

“What are you saying, Miguel?” the predatory queen asked as he got closer. “Is that some kind of pet name for me, handsome?”

“Víb---ora. Want---” Alvarez said and his head tilted to the side because the D-tabs had finally claimed him.

“That’s all right. I’ll find out what it means later. Soon, I will have every part of you, Miguel Alvarez.”

Torquemada ran his hands up the sleeping man’s body and rested them on his cascading chest to feel him breathe. A wicked glint flashed over his eyes in the darkness and he eased closer and closer. His lips touched Alvarez’s unaware ones in a one-sided kiss. The tip of his tongue slithered out and dragged across the Latino’s full bottom lip as he savored the masculine taste of him. Torquemada had a second taste and was even more hooked than he was by the first time---when he had tasted Alvarez’s cum. The man tasted too good and felt too amazing to be left alone.

Querns had ruled Keller’s death a suicide so Beecher was free of the charges. He had come back to Em City and had already settled back into his pod. Alvarez sat with Torquemada and Pancamo at an upstairs table as the two of them discussed business. Another D-tab had passed through his lips earlier in the morning and he was flying on that synthetic high all over again. O’Reily’s lips had been on his last night. The Irishman was somehow in his pod and touching and kissing him.

“Looks like we’ll need to do more convincing to get the niggers slinging for us,” Pancamo said as his large forearms pressed into the table.

“You’d think they’d have learned by now. Without a leader, they are ripe for the picking. Just look at what happened to El Norte. Your associate muscled his way in and took it over for you.”

“El Norte was a fucking joke!” Alvarez said out of nowhere and laughed.

“What’s wrong with him?” Pancamo asked.

“He’s in D-tab heaven,” Torquemada affectionately looked at the Latino as he said. “He’ll come down in a couple more hours.”

“He’s sure been there a lot these days.”

“Alonzo?” Beecher approached the group and asked.

“We haven’t had the pleasure of a formal introduction,” the queen looked up and said.

“Toby---Toby Beecher.”

“What is it, Beecher? We doing business here,” the Italian boss said.

“Um---I hear you’re the one to see about getting D-tabs,” Beecher said.

“No, Beecher! Don’t do it!” Alvarez angrily said and got up and left.

“Oh, don’t mind him, dear,” Torquemada said as he watched him walk away. “He’s just having a bad morning.”

“I want some,” Beecher said.

Alvarez walked down and behind the stairs and sat there to clear his head and wait for the drugs to pass through him. The cycle had already conquered him and he was slipping further away from everything he had fought to accomplish for the past year. His knees pressed into his chest as he stared off into space and thought about Torquemada’s sexual advances. The thoughts alone of him being so close slashed and hurt every inch of his skin.

“Alvarez, what’s the matter with you?” Murphy came behind the stairs and said, but there was no response. “Alvarez, hey---Alvarez. Okay, come with me.”

Officer Murphy went in and forcibly got him to his feet and took him out of Em City. Alvarez did not know where he was going and did not feel like caring about anything anymore. Oz owned his life now and he was tired of fighting back to make it belong to him again. The hack used most of his weight to walk the Latino through the prison and down a path that should have been familiar to the Latino, but it was not at the moment.

“Father, are you busy?” Murphy said when they both entered. “I have a situation.”

“What’s going on? Miguel---Miguel? What’s wrong with him?” Father Mukada immediately got up from his desk and rushed over to the both of them.

“Not sure. That’s why I brought him here,” he said and rested Alvarez down on a chair.

“Father---what are you doing here?” the Latino said in a somber tone.

“Okay. Let me take care of this,” he said and Murphy left and closed the door behind him.

The priest sat in front of him and said, “Miguel. Miguel, can you hear me?”

“Yeah---I’m not deaf.”

“Miguel, are you using drugs again?”

“No,” Alvarez lied and suddenly felt himself sobering up. “Yes.”

“Oh. You’ve been doing so well these past months. Why would you go back on all your hard work?”

“You don’t know what it’s like---what it’s like to be trapped in here,” he said, and some of his words still dragged on longer than they should have.

“What’s happened to you? Does all your hard work mean nothing?”

“No---not anymore. Not at all.”

“I don’t understand,” Father Mukada said.

“Guess I’m doomed to let you down, Father.”

“You haven’t let me down, Miguel. You’re letting yourself down.”

“Sometimes---some small moments, you know, I hate what I’m becoming,” Alvarez honestly said and wanted to suck the words back into his mouth. “What I’m doing.”

“Then that’s a sign. That’s a sign that you should stop.”

“No.”

“Miguel, what’s happened to make you turn to drugs? What happened to you?”

“Nothing. Nothing, Father.”

Ruiz was someone he did not want to think about because his anger undermined his thoughts and he wanted to kill the man. Maybe that was whom he was all along and there was no more denying it. No amount of good deeds or keeping out of trouble would pull him out of the deep grave his life had always been in. Alvarez left the priest’s office and remained by himself in the quad---the loner he always had been. He wanted another D-tab because the high was extinct by now.

“Well, well, well, Alvarez,” Urbano came over to the table and said. “How does it feel to be Torquemada’s little bitch these days?”

The words stung his brain and the dangerous fire inside the Latino ignited and was burning from the inside out. He jumped up with both his hands out, snatched the other man’s neck with lightning speed, and began to choke him. The fucking mutt was not going to talk to him that way and something inside Alvarez snapped. He wanted to crush the man’s windpipe. He wanted Urbano to stop talking forever.

Other inmates cheered at the fight as hacks surrounded both of them on the floor and tried to pull them off one another. His volatile insides had been stirred and provoked, but his hands were losing grip with Urbano’s neck because two hacks were pulling him away. He kept one hand choking the living breath out of the fucker while his other hand swung forward and punched him in his face over and over. Urbano’s nose was busted open and one of his eyes bruised when the guards finally made some progress in pulling them apart.

“Break it up. Let go! Let go, Alvarez!” one officer screamed and ordered him.

“Say it again, motherfucker. Say it again!” Alvarez said with that dangerous look in his eyes.

“That’s it! In the cage, Alvarez!” Murphy demanded. “Now!”

“That cocksucker broke my nose!” Urbano yelled out as more blood spilled over his face. “You’re dead---you hear me, Alvarez! You’re fucking dead!”

Both guards pushed him into the cage and slammed the door shut behind him as he truly became trapped like an animal. The metal wiring was already closing in on him and he fell to the floor and closed his eyes to try to make it stop. Alvarez felt as if the wires were slicing into his skin and blood was spewing all over the place. Inside his mind, it was as if he was confined in Solitary all over again.

“Miguel, what the hell were you thinking?” McManus asked once the excitement had died down. “Miguel, I know you hear me. What happened to trying to make parole? Fine! If you give up on yourself, who else will you have then, huh?”

He wanted to be lost inside his own head because many inmates had been passing by him over the past few hours and had tied to provoke him with words or by shaking the cage. Alvarez had mostly remained calm because he had to get out as soon as possible. Another D-tab would have passed the time faster. It was partly the reason he was in there in the first place, though.

At the edge of Em City, their eyes connected after another few hours and the Latino felt naked and raw. O’Reily’s green eyes vibrantly glowed with emotion and resentment as they were looking at each other. From so far away, he could see the man’s stare and knew what his body language meant. Alvarez had messed up---and he was now being publically punished and ridiculed for it. The Irishman had warned him that getting involved with that queen would cause problems.

“Miguel, how are you doing in there?” Torquemada broke his stare and said.

“I got nothing to say.”

“Oh, darling---you must learn to control that temper. How else are you ever going to get out of that ill-fitting cage? It does not become you at all, love.”

“Fuck you! Get away from me,” Alvarez demanded.

“Would you like a D-tab to calm your nerves? My treat. It’ll take the edge off.”

He glanced over at O’Reily and said, “Fuck off. I don’t want shit to do with you.”

“Now, now, dumpling. Why throw away all the hard work you and I have invested into our relationship?”

“There is no goddamn relationship! I’m not one of your fag friends.”

“I know that,” the queen said and smiled. “It is because you’re not a fag that I’m attracted to you---or haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“Leave me alone.”

“You’ll change your mind once you’re back in our pod.”

Alvarez ignored him and looked back to the familiar spot but it was vacant. O’Reily had disappeared during the latter part of his conversation with Torquemada. The look in his eyes said more than words could. He brought this mess on himself. The Latino leaned up against the cage and watched as people passed by on the outside as he thought. If Torquemada came back and offered him the D-tab again, he would have taken it.

 

 **Two days had** passed and Alvarez was still in the cage because Querns had decided to make an example out of him to the rest of the scumfucks in Em City. O’Reily paced in his pod as he thought about ways to get the man out without revealing their partnership. Going to McManus was out---he had denied Dr. Nathan’s words about bringing Seamus O’Reily into Em City. Just then, air suctioned out and the pod door opened.

“O’Reily, tell your father to stay away from me,” Neema came in and said. “I see him looking at me whenever we’re in the same room together.”

“Hey, I don’t control what he does, all right?” he snapped, but it was more because of the situation with the Latino than anything else.

“He already made one attempt at my life. I didn’t want it to end up the way it did. Talk to him, Ryan.”

“I did---once. That’s all he’s getting from me,” O’Reily said and stared out his pod.

“I thought you two were fixing your relationship.”

“We are. That doesn’t mean I’m going to babysit him. He tried to kill you and got stabbed for it. If he doesn’t learn from it, that’s his fault---not mine.”

“Are you upset with me---for stabbing him?” Neema asked and hated being put in this awkward position. “I know we’ve become closer during the ending of Cyril’s trial.”

“No---you defended yourself. Either one of you was going to get stabbed---or killed. My dad’s a hothead, so maybe this incident will cool him off,” he said and gazed at Alvarez’s lifeless body lying in the cage.

“Now I know where you get it from.”

“Fuck off! I’m not a hothead.”

“I’ll talk to him myself, then,” Neema said. “Man to man.”

“You’re welcome to it.”

He watched as the other man left and then quickly looked over to Alvarez, who was still lying in the cage like some sedated beast. All the Irishman knew was that he had attacked Urbano practically out of nowhere. He knew Alvarez, though---that stupid fuck had to have provoked him in some way. O’Reily was going to find the answers he needed, and he knew exactly who to get them from.

His emotions concerning Alvarez had strongly galvanized since Cyril’s death. He had become immensely protective of the partnership and the relationship as well. It was what had spurred him to take action against Schillinger. O’Reily felt as if he was losing control of himself, and more so now that Alvarez was rapidly falling back into drugs and his own head. Something had to be done to save him from going back there.

Dr. Nathan was in her office having a private meeting with an inmate when he entered the infirmary for his shift. He barely thought about her anymore and knew she was morally uncomfortable around him after the kiss they had in the gym. O’Reily was not interested in that anymore because it was in his past. Matters that were more urgent were prominent in his mind.

“Yo, mick, can I get some juice here?” Urbano called out to him.

“You sure you can drink it with your nose all casted up like that, motherfucker?” he spat back as he went to retrieve a juice box. “You know a stupid fuck like you can’t drink and breathe from your mouth at the same time.”

“Suck my dick, O’Reily.”

“Don’t wish too hard. It’ll never happen,” O’Reily said and stuck the straw into the small box. “So, word is Alvarez kicked your ass all over Em City.”

“Who’s saying that shit?” the default El Norte leader angrily asked. “That fuckhead got a cheap shot in.”

“A cheap shot, huh?” he played it cool and went looking for information. “That cocksucker. Why’d he attack you anyway?”

“I fucking told him the truth.”

“Truth---about what?”

“He’s Torquemada’s bitch. He can’t deny it,” Urbano said with an evil smile plastered to his face. “Torquemada turned that little piece of shit into a fag.”

“Alvarez---really? He’s as straight as they come in here,” the Irishman said and was getting more upset the further the conversation progressed.

“Not with Destiny. He becomes a queer’s little bitch with it.”

“Well, that little bitch broke that thing on your face you call a nose. What does that say about you?”

“Fuck you, mick! I told you---he got a cheap shot in.”

“Yeah---over and over from what I can see.”

“Kiss my ass!” he said but remained calm. “Can I get some more juice?”

“You’ve proven that you’re smart enough to drink and breathe without drowning or suffocating, so---no.”

Being around Torquemada really had started taking away from Alvarez’s credibility inside here. Urbano definitely was not the only one who thought that he had become that queen’s lapdog or bitch. Destiny was fucking with his mind and would eventually make him an open target for practically anyone to take advantage of---even Torquemada himself. That thought alone made O’Reily’s skin crawl as he walked away from the bed.

The Irishman had to construct a plan carefully to get Torquemada out of the picture. His popularity had grown exponentially since his arrival. Destiny was quickly becoming the drug of choice among all the inmates and that fed into the queen’s power. It needed to be some kind of angle that did not involve his personal relationship with Alvarez---the jealously and hatred that bubbled inside.

Before his shift was over, O’Reily looked through one of the medicine cabinets for the drugs he had been taking since Cyril’s death. He had been relying on them more and more over the past days and had taken heavier dosages to fill the hole in his heart---the silence in his head. He rushed a handful of prescription pills into his pocket and was out of the hospital ward within no time. He was not going to be caught by the hacks with all these pills on him.

His urge to take any pills had passed, so they were all in a little pouch and stuffed deep within his mattress for safekeeping. He was sitting on a table close to his pod and flicking playing cards as his eyes would occasionally wander over to Alvarez, who was still in the cage. The good thing was that he was up and sitting against the wire. O’Reily was careful not to let anyone see him looking in that direction at all. Too many of the fucks in here were already using D-tabs, so that was not much of a challenge. His eyes quickly focused in on someone walking over to him.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” the queen said when he approached the table and extended his hand. “Alonzo Torquemada.”

“There’s a reason we haven’t been introduced at all,” O’Reily said without even looking up.

“Oh, and what would that be?”

“There’s no interest I have in knowing you,” he said and tried hard to hide the contempt in his voice.

“You will change your mind once you listen to what I have to say, Mr. Ryan O’Reily,” Torquemada said and sat across the table from him.

“This conversation, and you, already bore me. Say your business and get on.”

“I have a proposal to offer. A proposal that will make you a great deal of money inside these confining walls.”

“That your doing?” the Irishman asked as he motioned his head to the cage, and the captured Miguel Alvarez.

“Now why would you think that, sugar?” he asked as if he was innocent, but there was a hidden smile there.

“You made him a---proposal, too, didn’t you? That’s the word over the prison.”

“I’m not one to indulge in mindless gossip, Mr. O’Reily. Let’s just say that Miguel Alvarez and I have come to an arrangement,” Torquemada said with a glowing light in his one good eye. “Sling for me. It’ll be worth your while.”

“Didn’t you hear Querns’s warning? I prefer to remain out of the hole---and clothed,” he cynically said as he read in between the other man’s movements and language. “I’m not concerned with any of your deals.”

“Such a shame,” the ostentatious man said with a long face. “I hear you are the best at what you do in here.”

“What’s that?”

“Mind-fucking---making whatever you want to happen, happen. Take your pick, sweetie.”

“I thought you didn’t listen to mindless gossip?” O’Reily said and the conversation had lost all flavor to him. “And don’t fucking call me shit like that.”

“Ah---touché.”

The nasty queen was dressed in a loud pink female blouse and a tight denim jacket and jeans. He looked like a walking mockery, but so many inmates were taking him and his D-tabs so seriously. O’Reily wanted to puke just from looking at him. He did not understand how Alvarez slept in the same pod with him night after night. A large pink and black flower was precariously pinned to the lapel that covered his heart.

“You’ll think about it, then?” Torquemada said after he got up from the table.

“I have no doubt I won’t, cocksucker.”

“Such scathing hostility,” he said and feigned a look of shock and pain. “I haven’t done anything to you to deserve such malevolence.”

His overacting was as sickening as his attire---and that unmoving eye of his. O’Reily took a deep breath to cool off his blood because every one of his instincts and impulses wanted him to jump across the table and crush the man’s neck in until he took his last breath. Alvarez’s eyes were on him and he looked over to tie them together for a few seconds. He wanted the man out of the cage badly. He missed the touch and comfort the Latino gave him.

At dinner, he was not hungry because of the unresolved emotions he felt for Alvarez and the unsettling conversation that had happened earlier between him and Torquemada. The man rubbed him the wrong way and he was definitely not going to start slinging Destiny for him. O’Reily had to get that drug out of Oz before it took over everything. The queen would be practically untouchable if that were to happen. He was not going to lose Alvarez to Destiny---or Torquemada.

“O’Reily, let’s go,” a hack approach the table and said.

“Where to?”

“The warden wants to see you. Come on.”

“What does he think I did now?”

The hack ignored the question and they both walked out of the cafeteria and towards Querns’s office. He was in no mood for a meeting with the warden, especially since he did not know what it was about. Thoughts swirled inside his head as the guard knocked on the office door and was called in by Querns. Inside, the warden was behind his desk with McManus and Dr. Nathan sitting across from him. O’Reily looked at them all.

“O’Reily, take a seat,” Querns said to him. “You can step outside, officer.”

The door closed and O’Reily said, “What’s all this about? Are all of you going to gang up on me?”

“Ryan---” Dr. Nathan tried to gently scold and comfort him at the same time.

“Your father killed Jahfree Neema about a half an hour ago,” the warden said.

“Fuck!” he said and shook his head. “Fuck! Fuck!”

“We have him in Solitary,” McManus said. “He’s asked to see you.”

“What’d you say? Let me see him---talk to him.”

“I told him I’d see,” McManus told him.

“He will be put on death row for the murder,” Querns said with very little compassion in his voice.

“What? What the fuck for?” O’Reily’s voice rose as his mind struggled to piece together what the words meant.

“Your father stabbed Neema in the neck four times, Ryan,” Dr. Nathan said. “And then once in the chest.”

“No---no! This can’t be happening again!” he sprung up from the chair and yelled.

“Ryan---Ryan, calm down,” she said.

“You can’t do this---you can’t do this! Not to my dad, too! Not after---not after Cyril!”

“You need to get him a lawyer as soon as possible because the state has already picked up the case,” Querns said as if he did not care. “They will go for the death penalty.”

“Fuck! No!”

“I’ll have an officer escort us down to Solitary for a couple minutes with him,” McManus said.

“Don’t expect any special treatment beyond this,” Querns warned him. “You got ten minutes down in Solitary. Make good use of it.”

“This isn’t happening. Not him, too,” he murmured to himself.

The cycle was repeating itself all over again, and so soon after the whirlwind of the first one had finished. O’Reily left the office with his mind in tattered ruins and his body refusing to accept what was going on. Both McManus and a guard walked him down to Solitary to talk to his father. He had remained quiet the whole way there---everything was building up and threatening to bubble over and burn his insides. The large metal door opened and his father came into view.

“Can I go in and have some time alone with him?” he asked the unit manager. “Come on, McManus.”

“Uh---okay. Only a few minutes, though,” he agreed and then turned to the guard. “Close the door behind us.”

“You fucking old bastard!” O’Reily lost it when they were alone and punched his father’s on side of his face. “What the hell were you thinking, huh? What the fuck, dad?”

“Ryan---Ryan,” Seamus O’Reily said and he rubbed his face.

“So soon after Cyril! Did you even think about that? Querns wants the death penalty, and you know what---he’s going to get it.”

“I---I wasn’t thinking, Ryan. I had to take care of that nigger---for all the shit he did to me and your mother.”

“I told you to stay the hell away from him! I told you that!” the Irishman continued to scream and felt his voice was giving up on him. “I can’t believe this.”

“Sorry---sorry. Something inside me took over. I had to take him out.”

“Did you even think how this was going to affect you---me?” he stopped yelling because his voice was raw. “Do you know how serious this is? Do you, dad? Goddammit!”

“I know, son---I know. What do we do now?” his father asked, with anxiety in his voice.

“How the hell am I supposed to know? I can’t go through this again---I can’t,” O’Reily said as he leaned against the wall of the cell and rubbed his hands in his face. “Cyril’s death crippled me. I can’t take more.”

“Ryan, listen to me---listen to me,” Seamus O’Reily grabbed his son’s arms and said. “We’ll fight this. We’ll hire and lawyer and fight this. I won’t ever see death row---you watch and see.”

“Not if the state has their way. You fucked up, dad. You fucked up all our lives just like you always do. I can’t believe you’d do this---after everything I went through with Cyril.”

The metal gates creaked open and McManus said, “That’s it. Time to go, O’Reily.”

“Be strong, son---be strong,” his father said and hugged him.

“Fuck you!” the Irishman shrugged him off and walked out of the cell.

Impulses were telling him to pull out his hair or dig into his skin---to do something that would make him feel again. His body was too numb to any sensations and he popped two more of the stolen pills into his mouth and looked out at the blackened quad. They had just started repairing their fragmented relationship and it could all be over. O’Reily throat was sore and his skin riddled with nerves as he desperately waited for the high to come and take him away.

Then, he would be able to forget the shit his life had turned to. His lost feelings for Dr. Nathan because of Alvarez---and now, that fucking queen Torquemada trying to come between them. Cyril’s death had almost made him want to stop his own heart so that they could be together again. Now, his father placed himself in the same situation and there was no telling how everything was going to end up. All the faith he had struggled so hard to build up and maintain for himself had seeped away and left an empty shell---a lifeless cocoon.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

 **~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

 **~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

 **~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

 **Four pills taken earlier offered** an intense release from the grip of the stifling reality his life had been. He sat in the storage room with his eyes wide open and his skin feeling prickles of numbness. O’Reily sat on the floor of the small room and tried to count all the vividly splashing colors in front of him. He was surprised he was normal enough to slip away from Em City and make it all the way here. The drug from the hospital ward was potent stuff---especially four of them. 

Yesterday had been another crushing day for him. He was so furious with his father when he had seen him in that Solitary cell---the man had fucking ruined and sealed the fate of his own life. The Irishman had fought back the tears that night and had only thought about his brother sitting in the electric chair. Too much shit had passed for his life ever to be considered normal or sane again. O’Reily slightly looked up when the door opened and then closed back again.

The Latino flopped down next to him and said in a drawn out voice, “Hey.”

“You on Destiny again?” O’Reily said, with his words equally slow.

“Are you? You sound like you’re on something.”

“Fuck Torquemada. I---I never want to try any of his shit.”

“I’m coming down,” he said as they both stared out in front of them. “Where’d you get your stuff?”

“From the hospital. Don’t say anything,” O’Reily warned as if he needed to.

“I haven’t spilled any of your secrets yet. You think I’ll start now? I know you’ll kill me if I do,” Alvarez said and smiled at the words.

“I wouldn’t kill you, loco.”

“Oh yeah? Why not?”

“Because---”

“Because?” Alvarez questioned.

“Because---you’re loco,” he laughed. “And, because---and because I like you, loco.”

“Wow---how much of that stuff did you take? It’s good, huh?”

“Prescriptions are always good. That’s why so many people fill them, you know?”

“I---I heard about your dad and Neema.”

“No,” the Irishman snapped. “Don’t talk about him. You know, not here.”

He was so gone that he had no idea what he was saying, but he knew he did not want to talk about his father and death row right now. He did not even want to think of the possibility---the drugged stupor was the result of that. O’Reily had used so many pills to get away from Cyril’s death, and now he was doing it again to avoid Seamus O’Reily sitting in Solitary with the strong possibility of being upgraded to death row.

Alvarez murmured something to him about his father. He did not listen to the instructions. O’Reily moved his body and positioned himself accordingly before he was sitting on Alvarez’s hips as the other man’s back jammed into the storage room wall for support. He easily straddled the Latino, and moved closer to form their lips together in a sweet kiss. Hands landed on either sides of his hips and tongues played at lips for affection.

“I’ve been fighting myself for a long time, Miguel,” the Irishman said in a serious but riddled way as he kissed Alvarez’s jaw and neck. “Almost since it started. So long, loco. I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

“What?” Alvarez asked and continued to hold on to the other man’s hips.

“You know when I realized there was something more than just two guys getting their rocks off?”

“It’s the drugs, you know?” he said, but his heart jumped because he wanted to further the conversation. “No, you don’t---there’s nothing more.”

“I fought it---I fought it with everything I had,” O’Reily said with an unreadable face. “When I wanted to suck your dick to prove my trust to you but you tried to talk me out of it. I knew---I knew.”

“I didn’t do a very good job of it. You still did it anyway.”

“Because, I really wanted to show you that you could trust me. And, I really did want to do it, too. I was curious,” his eyes widened as he said it. “You can’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Your secrets are safe with me, baby. All of them.”

O’Reily kissed him passionately as the drugs had completely taken over by now. His body only wanted more of a high and being with the Latino this way was going to give it to him. Having their hot mouths touching one another while fingertips pressed into naked flesh to bring about ecstasy was the ultimate sensation. Alvarez raised both his hands in the air as his shirt came off and O’Reily had to break another kiss so that his own shirt could be removed as well.

Alvarez looked at him with his brown eyes and his index finger ran down and across the golden cross that hung around the other man’s neck. It had been a symbol of his beliefs as a child---beliefs before he was old enough to realize how cold and cruel the world could truly be. His father violent abuse had forced him to grow up quickly in order to protect himself and Cyril from the onslaught.

O’Reily felt his knees digging into the ground on either side of Alvarez’s body as he continued to sit on his lap and felt fingers toying with the piece of jewelry. Lips playfully touched his at first, but then changed into obsessive and soul-stealing kisses. He felt one hand slide down his back and enter his pants to grope as much of his ass as the other man could feel.

“God, Miguel. God---God,” O’Reily moaned with their mouths still so close together. “Uh---touch me.”

“Your skin’s quivering.”

“Yours too. Don’t take your hands off me.”

He was lowered to the floor and their lips crushed together as hands tugged at pants to get rid of them. Alvarez trailed kisses down his naked chest and across both his nipples. O’Reily groaned as the wet tongue licked and teased the orbs of his chest and hands pulled down his pants and boxers past his legs. It did not even matter that the floor was cold---the high made none of that matter at all.

The Latino lowered his mouth on his hardening dick and began sucking and blowing him while one hand ran up and down his stomach. Enhanced by drugs, every part of his skin tingled and responded to the warm touches and sucking he was experiencing. O’Reily mumbled under his breath and put one of hands behind Alvarez’s head to encourage him to go deeper and give more.

It went more into his mouth---as much as he could take while he fingered with his own button and zipper to get his pants off and away from him. The restriction had become too much for his aching dick to handle and it needed to be released. His tongue ran down the underside of O’Reily’s shaft as he kicked off his pants and got completely naked too. Alvarez touched the man’s thighs as his mouth continued to work on his dick.

Destiny had lost its grip on him, but the intoxicating taste of the Irishman and the need of touch fueled his drive to go further and feel everything his body could possibly take. That was the problem with D-tabs. They always made him feel lonely. Torquemada’s sexual advances and touches was not what he wanted. Alvarez smiled and moved back up the body under his for a kiss.

Their bodies shifted to be opposite one another’s and both began orally stimulating the other. The drugs coursing through his veins enhanced O’Reily’s bodily gratification. He sucked Alvarez’s dickhead and tried to swallow more of it in his mouth. He had to go as far as he possibly could right now. The fog inside his brain freed up most of his inhibitions and fully allowed him to coddle in the pleasure. It was going to be all or nothing that was going to drive them both over the edge.

“Christ---that feels good,” the Irishman said in his dazed mindset.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll cum.”

“No---not yet,” he warned and turned his body around for their lips to meet. “You want to go inside?”

“Huh---what? You mean---” Alvarez started to say and was shocked by the words.

“Yeah, loco. You touch my ass every time we do this,” O’Reily’s expression was serious. “I’ll let you---”

“Not for that reason---no. No---not this way.”

“What way?”

“It’s the drugs, Ryan. You know, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you were clean.”

“Come on---you can’t deny me,” he seductively said as he kissed him. “Everyone’s wanted to get my ass ever since I got in here. Adebisi, Ross, Stanislofsky, Keller---so many more.”

“This isn’t you---you’d never talk like this,” the Latino said in between their lips meeting. “This is all the drugs.”

“So, you’re saying ‘no’? You’re saying ‘no’ to fucking me---Ryan fucking O’Reily? Me?” O’Reily said and had a somewhat amused look on his face.

“Not when you’re high. I want to---but not when you’re like this.”

“This’ll change your mind.”

Alvarez watched on with a confused look on his face as O’Reily searched through their discarded clothes for his pants. He dug into a front pocket and produced two of the pills he had stolen from the hospital. The Latino denied them at first, but allowed the man to put them in his mouth and he swallowed a short while after. O’Reily had that determination in his eyes and there was no denying him in what he wanted.

He had not expected this. Thoughts had crossed his mind before about them taking that next step, but the boundaries both men had set with one another so long ago was something never to be crossed. Alvarez placed him back on the floor and was on top of him as they kissed and touched exposed flesh. Fingers scraped into his back and the heat drawn from between them made sweat form. The acts themselves became more intimate.

He moved his hips upward and O’Reily bathed and coated his dick with spit and saliva to be used as lubricant between their bodies. Neither had condoms nor any other type of lubricant so this had to work. O’Reily was not in his right mind and the two pills were quickly altering Alvarez’s brain. Mixing with the traces of Destiny in his system, the prescription pills were quickly overtaking him---making his desires more vivid and lifelike.

The Latino got into position between his legs and sucked on his own index finger before he traced it down to the spot. It was a spot that so many people wanted to get into ever since he had come to Oz. O’Reily closed his eyes and clammed up when he felt the wet digit softly stroke his virgin hole. A little part of him knew what was happening, and a slightly bigger part wanted to experience what it would feel like.

The spit-slicked finger very slowly tunneled its way inside his tight hole and his back arched up at the intrusion. Alvarez wormed all of his index finger in without too much of a fight. His fingers were long and slender so applying one was not too painful. Muscles clenched and clamped on him because they were not going to give up the Irishman’s virginity so easily. It was going to be a fight for control and power to the very end.

After a few minutes and another finger inside him, O’Reily was panting and wanted more---he wanted it all. Muscles were not clenching as much and his entire body was calming and getting used to the two assaulting digits. The pills had taken him away and Alvarez was swathed in lust and eagerness to do what they both wanted. 

“Alvarez, do it,” he stared at him and whispered the order. “Do it.”

The Latino crawled up to him and said, “No turning back now.”

“Are the drugs I gave you not working?” O’Reily pouted.

“I’m feeling it.”

He gripped the base of his wet dick and aligned himself properly before he started easily pushing against the tender flesh of O’Reily’s ass. There was a loud pant and his body jumped up from the floor at the much larger intrusion than the previously two fingers. He settled back down onto the ground and positioned himself back to keep going. The pain was bad, but it mixed with the drugs inside him and he did not feel as much of it as he was supposed to. O’Reily closed his eyes and let the drugs do its work---for both of them.

“Get on your hands and knees,” Alvarez said. “It might be easier.”

The Irishman got into the new position and felt two hands clamp down on either side of his ass and then a finger move in to stroke his hole. He began pressing into him again and felt muscles give access to the head of his dick. It was so tight and warm and enveloping. Alvarez pushed in more of himself into O’Reily ass and his brain started to wonder how he went for so long without such intimate contact. 

Grunts and curses escaped his lips as Alvarez pushed in and finally stopped because he was all the way in. A small kiss was placed on the back of O’Reily’s neck and whispers touched his ear as they both waited for his body to get used to the Latino’s large and probing dick. Again, the drugs continued to help, but O’Reily felt the sharp pains and a giant gash in his pride because he was no longer a virgin. He was bent over on his hands and knees with a dick shoved up his ass. Oz had finally gotten to him.

A slight nod let the Latino know that he was ready so he pulled out slowly and thrust back in. Alvarez felt lightheaded because of the drugs and now the amount of pleasure his body was receiving from being like this. The pace of his hips slowly picked itself up to plunge harder and faster into O’Reily. Friction and rhythm was created between their bodies to intensify satisfaction and enhance already overloaded sexual stimulation.

A prevailing sensation of dominance and power flowed through the Latino as he rocked his hips back and forth to grunts and groans of gratification. Ryan O’Reily was the straightest man in the entire prison. No one would have ever suspected either of them being in a position like this. So many inmates, past and present, wanted this piece of him. So many inmates wanted to conquer the king of mind-fucking this way. Alvarez felt the thrill and rush of it all and it was poisonous and intoxicating. O’Reily was bent over and taking his dick up his tight and completely untouched ass. The ass the Irishman had religiously fought to protect from any kind of sexual assault for so long.

Adebisi or Keller would have killed in this position---killed to be inside O’Reily and take his virgin ass for the top prize it was worth. For a man who constantly made people know he was not a fag, so much sexual tension, experimentation, and blackmail had gone down over the past years by other prisoners to make O’Reily renege on his words. Too many wanted a piece of him---a piece of his white ass. Alvarez comfortably grew into the dominant role of fucking him, but did not know if it was from his insides or an apparition put forth by the drugs in his system. They were supposed to be equals.

“Holy fuck!” the Irishman yelped. “Ouch---uhh! Oww---ahh! It hurts like a motherfucker!”

“Want me to stop?” Alvarez asked in between ragged breaths but only wanted to keep going.

“No. I feel, ah---it feels good when you hit that spot. Ahh---ahh. Let me flip over.”

His back landed against the floor once again but immediately arched back up when he felt Alvarez pushing and entering him again. His legs hung on around the other man’s lower waist while the friction and heat between their needy bodies began to be built back up again. O’Reily pulled him down and their lips locked as one hand snaked down his own body to touch his mostly neglected dick.

The emotional scarring was becoming too much for him to handle, and he coaxed Alvarez into going faster and harder, even though it felt like his insides were being ripped apart. He wanted to feel something other than numbness since Cyril’s execution. If it was a little pleasure mixed within a whirlwind of pain, then so be it. Both were worth feeling over constant numbness and haunted eyes. O’Reily wanted to know if his body was still alive and capable of feeling any sensation at all. He worked his ass further down into Alvarez’s crotch and felt a jolt of electricity as that spot inside him was stabbed.

“Goddammit, loco! Do that again,” he breathed out and commanded harshly. “Uhh---yeah. Do it again.”

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” Alvarez’s sultry voice touched his skin. “I’m going to cum soon.”

“Yeah---fuck! Faster. Me too.”

O’Reily breaths were shallow and quick as he pleasured himself while Alvarez thrust into him deeper and more forceful. His ass hurt and the lower inside part of his hips felt like it was on fire because of the assault by the Latino’s pulsating dick. He jacked himself off and grunted as sweet release took over his body and cum sprayed everywhere on his hands and stomach.

It was one of the most concentrated and extreme orgasms that had ever passed through his body and he was shuddering under the weight of Alvarez’s body. His mind drew blanks as he continued to pump his dick and feel the other man deeply plunging in and out of his no longer virgin ass. O’Reily gasped for air and bonded their lips together for the natural high to never end.

He felt himself close because the Irishman’s insides clamped down on his dick hard after he came and that exhilarating tightness, hotness, and moistness gripped his dick like a vice full of bliss. Alvarez grunted on their lips as he pulled out and stroked himself only a few times before he came. He was dizzy and wanted to fall back onto his body because the combination of drugs and sex was too much stimulation for him to contain. His fist kept pumping his dick until his body crashed on top of O’Reily’s and his eyes closed to revel in it all.

What he thought was never going to happen had happened. O’Reily too closed his eyes---their breathing almost became synchronized with one another’s and it felt like an out of body experience. He had spent so many years protecting his ass from having anything come anywhere near it. That was gone now. He had gone as far as two men could go together. The thoughts were quickly sobering him up and he felt his stomach churn at what he had just put his body through.

His ass hurt and was sore as both highs were wearing off to bring him back to reality. Alvarez was still resting on top of him, with their sweaty and sticky skin melding together. He may have been having conflicting emotions about what just happened, but the Latino felt so good on top of him. He smelled so good of pure masculine musk and his raw skin felt so sweet against his. O’Reily had to process and deal with what was going through his head. He had just been fucked, but still believed more than ever that he was not a fag.

“Alvarez---Alvarez, get up.” O’Reily said to the still resting man. “Ah---shit!”

“What---I was dreaming that I was lying on a beach somewhere far away,” he looked up and said. “What’s wrong?”

“Dammit! This hurts. We have to go.”

“Oh, yeah. Give me a minute. I got to get all my head back,” Alvarez said as he shook his head to get rid of all the dizziness.

“Oh---fuck!”

O’Reily had to be strong and suck up the pain because no one was ever going to know what had just happened to him. He easily slipped away from Alvarez’s body and went to clean up before he started collecting his clothes from the floor to put on. His ass was sore and sensitive to the touch of his pants sliding over them. O’Reily bit down on his jaw and muted his voice as the clothing slipped over his body as if it were some sort of protection. It was far too late for that now.

There was awkwardness that hung in the air now and Alvarez did not know what to say or do to break it. Most of the drugs had been processed through his system and his thoughts were returning to him---mostly in pieces and broken strands. He started to get dressed and knew O’Reily was in pain because of the way he was standing. That weakness, of course, was not going to be made known outside of the room. As soon as he left, that mask was going to go back up and everything was going to be as it was. Except that everything had changed between them.

The Latino walked over and touched his forearm as he asked, “Hey, you okay?”

“Don’t touch me,” he said and pulled away. “No.”

“What happened---I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s good---because you don’t have to say anything,” O’Reily responded back and got ready to leave.

“You regret it?”

“From the second it started.”

The words stung but they had to be expected. Something he had sworn was never going to happen had. Alvarez watched him but there was no eye contact as he tried his best to put up his mask and ignore the pain his lower body was in. Of course, he was going to regret it. Both had been out of their minds on drugs and O’Reily was under tremendous pressure and stress with his father’s murder of Neema and still coping with the execution of his brother. There seemed to be nowhere else to turn to make his body feel again.

The weight of the room felt like it was going to crush him. He had to get out of there. Once he was confident enough to pass as himself on the outside, O’Reily slipped away without saying another word to the Latino. His walk mainly returned to the overly confident strut most knew him for as he made his way back to Em City. The Irishman was in no mood to deal with anyone or anything. He just wanted to be alone with himself to make sense of what his life had become.

He slowly but confidently walked to his pod and heard the door suction shut behind him to know that he was safe for the moment. His ass was so tender and raw that, as he climbed up to his bed, it hurt and felt uncomfortable. His drug-addled mind had made a mistake. _Did I beg?_ The thought disgusted him and he jumped off the bed as fast as he could when he felt his mouth becoming full. O’Reily dropped to the floor near the toilet and threw up what felt like all his guts. It just kept coming and he just felt sicker and sicker. His lower abdomen was on fire because of the sudden and quick movements.

He would kill himself if he had begged Alvarez to fuck him---to split him open like some bitch. O’Reily got up from the floor and went to the sink to rinse out his mouth. It was all too much for him, and he could not begin to cope with any of it---Cyril, his father, and now, getting fucked. _Oh, Christ!_ The Irishman wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he heard the familiar sound of air being savagely stolen from his pod. Now was not the time for this motherfucker to be in the same proximity as him.

“I see you’ve returned from your disappearance,” Torquemada greeted in that perverse voice of his. “I knocked. You didn’t seem to hear.”

“Get out.”

“Be still my little heart. All this enmity you have towards me. What have I done, darling?”

“Listen, you overacting, cocksucking freak,” O’Reily said with most of his anger still in check. “I got nothing to say to you and, it’d be in your best interest if you didn’t have anything to say to me.”

“Was there a threat somewhere in there? Prison just isn’t what it used to be.”

“Good---now get out.”

The queen remained standing there and said, “Have you giving any more thought to my business suggestion?”

“Get the fuck out of my pod!” he yelled.

“Hmm---you were more fun when you were disappeared. Now, if only Miguel would return from his---disappearance,” Torquemada said and their eyes connected.

The flamboyant queen said it as if he knew something but there was no way Alvarez would betray the partnership like that. Torquemada smiled and left the pod a moment later without another word or gesture. O’Reily felt his wrath becoming uncontrolled at the comment and the insinuation behind it. No one could ever know what was going on between them. The reputation he had fought, manipulated, and killed for all this time would crumble if they were ever linked together like that. His image of himself had already taken a big slash because of what had just happened.

However he tried, he could not stay away---his body could not stop feeling for the Latino. With his mind so muddled with prescription drugs, of course the chance was greater of him giving in to a more sexually charged experience. Sex had been restricted in his life for so long that it was only a matter of time before their fooling around went too far. Despite being a woman, the ugly hack Howell had not held his interest for long. And he had to get rid of her once she had started talking about wanting to fuck Cyril.

The lumpy and hard mattress under him did nothing to soothe his pain, and his head was starting to hurt as well. His insides were still burning, but the hazy fog from the pills had cleared from his head as he tried to get some sleep. O’Reily felt his stomach in a giant knot and knew he would want to throw up again if he thought about it anymore. There was no going back. He just really wanted the pain to go away or sleep to take him soon. It was all so demanding and exhausting on his body.

The opening door swiped at his eardrums and a familiar voice said, “O’Reily, get up. You’re late for your work detail.”

“Murphy,” the Irishman turned from facing the wall and said. “Murphy, I---I don’t feel so hot.”

“Well then, let’s go. Dr. Nathan works there---remember? I’m sure seeing her will put the spring back in your step. It always has every time you’ve been sick before,” the hack said and used the word sick far too lightly.

“No---I mean it. I don’t think I can work today.”

“You’re serious? You want me to take you to the hospital to get checked out?”

“No. I need rest,” the Irishman said and it was mostly true.

“O’Reily, if you’re faking out on me, I’ll make you wish you were sick,” Murphy said with a straight face.

“You’re too kind.”

“Is that the excuse I should give to Dr. Nathan on your behalf?”

“I don’t care, man,” he said and turned back around to try to get some rest.

He wanted, more than anything, to let his body recover for the ordeal he had put it through with Alvarez. Now it was entirely uncomfortable and hurting, but it had not always felt like that. O’Reily was not sure if the drugs had made it feel good or if it was Alvarez’s dick burrowing deep inside him. Their bodies had been connected and genuine heat had been generated between the two. Lips and fingers had known their rightful times and places while O’Reily had seen so many colorful stars in front of his eyes. Alvarez had made him see stars---had made him feel like he could reach out and touch them.

Another day had settled itself upon Oz and he was sitting in the visitor’s room awaiting his mother. His lower body felt better, but there was still sharp pain when he walked too fast or sat down too quickly. O’Reily ignored it and got back to his old self, though---nothing was going to change the position he had cemented for himself inside this God forsaken place. A hack opened the door and his mother came in.

“Ryan,” she said and he slowly got up to hug and kiss her.

“Hey, ma. Come on---sit,” O’Reily said and they both did.

“How are you?”

“I---I haven’t seen you much since the play.”

“Querns doesn’t want programs like that in Oz anymore,” Fitzgerald sadly said. “He thinks it’s some kind of reward for the inmates not to be confined to their cells as much as possible.”

“The stupid prick.”

“He’s making a mistake. If there’s one thing I learned from working here, it’s that the prisoners need some kind of outlet to release themselves in---something for them to expend their energy and dedicate themselves to. Maybe he’ll come to realize this in time.”

“Querns is a moron who has no idea how to run Oz,” he said with no emotion to the words.

“At least when I was working off my community service, I got to spend time with you, and---” she said but stopped right away.

“I miss him, ma. I fucking miss him so much.”

“I know, Ryan. When---when I was watching him in the chair, my mind just went blank. I felt like I couldn’t think---or breathe,” his mother held his hand and said. “A piece of me died the day he did. I felt just like a mother who had lost her child.”

“You were his mother,” O’Reily said in a strong tone. “There was never any fucking doubt about that.”

“Now that the warden has banned all these programs, I can’t spend any time with you---not like we used to.”

“Did you finish all your hours?”

“Yeah---but I wanted to keep going. I wanted to do so much more,” she continued to say in a sad tone. “And, to keep spending time with you.”

Again, Oz cost him something else that he did not want or was willing to give up. O’Reily had gotten so accustomed to having his mother there every day that he could not imagine her not being there anymore. Querns was a fucking idiot and the prisoners were going to revolt when they found out that the arts were being permanently pulled. It was a way for the inmates to break up the monotony of the days and being confined.

The Irishman realized that his mother did not know what had happened. He did not know how she was going to react to it and he shifted uncomfortably in the chair---it was all Alvarez’s fault. Torquemada’s words had not sat easy with him. The allusion had been purposely placed between the queen’s words to imply that he knew something. O’Reily was sure the man knew nothing, but he had to nip the problem in the bud before it formulated into anything. The fag was irritatingly crossing his path far too many times now.

“Ryan, what’s the matter? Why do you look so upset?” Fitzgerald asked and knocked him out of his head.

“Ma---dad killed Jahfree Neema.”

“What?” her face lit up with shock. “No. Jahfree’s---dead?”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” O’Reily said and held her hand tighter. “I know he meant something to you.”

“Oh my God. He’s dead---he’s really dead?” she said as tears formed in the back of her eyes.

“Querns says the state is going for the death penalty.”

“Good! He fucking deserves everything he’s got coming to him for doing this.”

“Ma---come on,” the Irishman warned her as gently as he could. “Not like this.”

“I could just kill that old bastard,” Fitzgerald said through tears and silent sobs.

“Don’t say that. I couldn’t deal with you in prison, too.”

“Sorry. Sorry. I know it’s hard---because of what happened to Cyril.”

“Dad and I are trying to fix our relationship. It can’t happen if he’s dead.”

“Did your father say why---why he did it?” she wiped a tear from her face and said.

“I don’t know. He wasn’t exactly Neema’s greatest supporter, you know?”

“After all these years---to end up like this. Oh, Jahfree.”

“It’s the same fucking cycle over and over again,” O’Reily crossly said. “Nothing ever fucking changes inside these goddamn walls.”

“What are you going to do, Ryan?”

“I have to help him. I can’t---I can’t sit by and watch him end up like Cyril.”

He could tell that she was trying hard to fight away the tears. Despite his approval or not, his mother had cared for Neema---and, in a way, so did he. The man had supported him during the last days of Cyril’s life and had rallied everyone to support his brother during his time of need. Unlike when he had first come to Oz, O’Reily had nothing against Neema and did not want to see him end up the way he did.

There had to be a way of convincing Querns to have his mother continue with the arts program. It was yet another thing he had to add to the growing list of things he had to accomplish to remain on top of his game. O’Reily kissed her goodbye when the hack informed them that time was up and slowly made his way back to Em City. So many things had to be done, and he needed Alvarez off Destiny to help him carry out plans and make things happen.

As he walked through his pod, that dead eye was on him. Maybe it was an intimidation tactic, or something designed to make him scared, but O’Reily was neither and did not bother making eye contact with the flamboyant man. He shut himself away in his pod to think about his next move---it had to be getting Alvarez away from that faggot queen. The Latino had to be sobered up and out of Torquemada’s clutches for the partnership to have any chance of survival.

Something else was propelling him forward to get rid of Torquemada too. It had been hidden away in the back of his mind because that was where he had put it so that he did not have to think about it. The man always attempted to fawn and hang all over Alvarez while they were in public. The Latino had never allowed anything serious, but there had been some light touching and caressing. O’Reily was jealous---his relationship with Alvarez had never seen the outside of a storage room closet. Aside from that, he did not want that pathetic queen touching what was supposed to be his.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**Dependence on D-tabs had become** too much of a struggle for him. Having Torquemada watching him every night made him feel like a prag. There were never any sexual encounters aside from light touching and fondling on the queen’s part---Alvarez was performing for him, and the sick fuck got off on it. As hard as he tried to escape, the grip of D-tabs kept him firmly in place and practically under Torquemada’s thumb.

Then, there was the steady evolution from partnership that was occurring with O’Reily. They had both willingly done something that should have severely threatened their manhood in here---threatened the Irishman’s manhood. It had felt good---great even. The warmth and pulsing flesh of O’Reily insides coupled with his throbbing hard dick made Alvarez crave it even more. D-tabs could never offer that kind of satisfaction to him, but it had still given him a regular break from life in Oz.

He sat at that same upstairs table and thought about what his life had become since that queen had sashayed himself into it. His precious D-tabs were able to subdue him. Alvarez had never been that weak or easily manipulated before, though. His ears drifted in and out of the conversation that was going on at the same table. Torquemada, Pancamo, and Urbano were talking strategy and about going into overdrive. D-tabs had already made its mark on the prison. Now it was time to expand that mark into domination.

With Keller’s final act of sadistic love to Beecher, he had gotten rid of all the Nazi inmates and their blind racism. There was no Aryan group among the cliques anymore because of their severely diminished numbers. Robson was not going to cause any problems from the AIDS ward. Redding had temporarily regained control of the homeboys and had committed them to a straight life through the telemarketing program, but Poet, Rawls, and most of the other niggers were not too happy with their newfound life of honesty. 

Latino numbers were growing in Em City and throughout the other cellblocks, but with Urbano in charge, El Norte was reduced to nothing more than gofers and slingers for Torquemada and Pancamo. Urbano still stupidly believed that he was a part of the grand plan---as did Pancamo. The crafty queen was going to take care of them both when the time was right. Alvarez smiled to himself as he listened to them talk around the table as if they all were equal partners.

“Poet’s got most of the other niggers slinging on the side. Redding doesn’t have a fucking clue,” Urbano said to the table and then looked at the Latino. “What the fuck are you smiling at, Alvarez?”

“Nothing, man. I’m cool,” he suavely replied.

“Yeah, it better be nothing---fucking fag.”

“How about I make it so you breathe permanently through your mouth this time?” Alvarez said, but had no interest in expending any more energy on the stupid lapdog.

“Bring it on, cocksucker. I ain’t scared of a bitch like you.”

“Yo, Urbano, calm the fuck down,” Pancamo said to him.

“You need to control your temper,” Torquemada said to Urbano. “You’re not going to lay a finger on Miguel.”

“I don’t need your protection,” Alvarez sternly said.

“Not protection, dear. Think of it---think of it as insurance.”

“I was never good at paying my premiums,” he said and jerked the flamboyant man’s hand away from his arm.

“Enough of this bullshit,” the big Italian said. “None of this has anything to do with controlling Em City.”

“Chucky’s right,” Torquemada said. “Now that the niggers are working for us, we have to focus our attention on the bikers.”

“The bikers? Their numbers are small,” Pancamo said. “They’re no threat to anyone.”

“Maybe not, but it couldn’t hurt to have them on our side. At the end of this takeover, if you are not standing with us, then you are against us.”

“What about the Muslims? They’ll never sling,” Alvarez said and ignored Urbano’s stupid glare.

“We don’t have to worry about the Muslims just yet,” the queen said. “They don’t start trouble---even when provoked. Once we acquire the bikers into our little---family, our numbers will be more than enough to handle them were they to stage a revolt.”

“The Muslims have been weak since Said got himself airholed,” Pancamo said. “They won’t be a problem.”

“So why not take them out now---start getting rid of all who oppose us?” Urbano said.

“Doing that would cause a war---a riot, you dumbass fool,” the Latino replied.

“What?” he angrily spat.

“Miguel’s right,” Torquemada said. “And I have no interest in genocide. The Muslims are the only group I am willing to overlook in our conquest. As long they stay out of the way, they will continue to receive this---free pass. My dear Arif will be wise to accept the terms of this arrangement.”

“Fuck them,” Pancamo said in agreement. “They don’t sling so we got no competition. If they do step to us, they’ll be stomped out.”

The siren wailed and the gate shifted aside for another presence to pass beyond it. Not many inmates paid much attention to the new face among them. The man walked into Em City with a purpose and with only one destination in mind. His face was unreadable as he made his way to the stairs and started ascending them to get to where he wanted to be. Alvarez glanced down to see those evil eyes approaching and felt a sting of exhilaration and dread. _Oh, fuck!_

“Is this a private party?” the unknown man said after he approached the table.

“It was---until now,” Pancamo replied in an irritated tone. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Which one of you is the leader of El Norte?” he said and scanned all their faces.

“Oh, sweetie, I believe we are the ones who will be asking the questions,” Torquemada said. “Shall we make introductions?”

“Nah---fuck that,” the Italian said. “Get the hell out of here, motherfucker, before you get hurt.”

“I hear this is the place to be,” he said in a dry voice. “Tell me what I want to know.”

“A demand?” the queen said with his horrid overacting. “Oh, no---we don’t respond well to those. Not at all.”

“Leave---while you can still breathe,” Pancamo stood up and threatened again.

“I will have to make you all respond, then,” the man said and walked away.

“What the fuck was that about?” Urbano asked the table.

“Shit,” Alvarez said.

“What is it? You know him?” Torquemada said as he looked at the man walking into his pod.

“I know of him. He’s a bloodthirsty warlord that does a lot of business in my neighborhood now. They call him El Cartel.”

“You’re lying,” Urbano stupidly said.

“Hey, Urbano, shut the fuck up, all right?” Pancamo ordered him. “Alvarez, what else do you know?”

“Nothing. He’s a dangerous man and, from the looks of it, Urbano’s the first one on his list of getting to know,” the Latino laughed as he looked at him and said. “Lucky you.”

“Kiss my ass, Alvarez. I ain’t scared of that prick.”

“We’ll have to keep an eye on him,” Torquemada said and then looked at Urbano. “Have one of the Latinos get close to him to find out what his intentions are.”

“If this asshole’s going to be a problem, it’ll be fun getting rid of him,” Pancamo said.

Alvarez had an uneasy feeling and his instincts were on razor-sharp alert from the newest arrival to Em City. Before Reynaldo had betrayed him by sleeping with Maritza, he had spoken about El Cartel on more than a few occasions. The drug lord’s gang had infested and flooded his old neighborhood with so much drugs and was the cause of so much violence. Alvarez knew now more than ever that he had to watch his back from this man. From the conversation, El Cartel looked like he had come to Oz with a purpose in mind.

Later in the day, he was in the computer room surfing the net as his eyes glanced over to O’Reily from time to time. The other man was sitting at the TV area watching something, but their eyes had met a few times. The Latino wondered how he was doing with his father and the man’s likely trip to death row. His emotions were obviously haywire for him to turn to the prescription pills the way he did. He and O’Reily were drugged up messes---both for very different reasons, though. The other inmate quickly got up and left as someone else entered.

“Alvarez, right?” the man greeted and took the computer right next to him. “They say you’re the one to talk to.”

“Talk to about what?” he said without looking away from the computer screen.

“Information I need to know. Ramíro Calderón,” El Cartel introduced himself. “Are you going to look at me---shake my hand?”

“Don’t need to. I already know about you---El Cartel.”

“I see. So you know why I’ve come to Oz.”

“I know who you are. I don’t know anything beyond that,” Alvarez said without emotion.

“I thought it would’ve been clear from the encounter at the table earlier. I’m here to reclaim El Norte for us.”

“There is no El Norte---and there is no us. The gang is dead and gone.”

“And you stood by and watch this happen?” he asked with an eerily collected voice.

“Didn’t give a fuck. Still don’t.”

“You are of Latin blood, aren’t you?”

“So?”

“It is your responsibility to protect the reputation of our gang inside these walls,” El Cartel said with a hint of anger. “It is the responsibility of all the Latino inmates to see to it that El Norte never fell from its powerful position inside Oz.”

“Spare me this bullshit,” Alvarez stopped him and said. “El Norte was as corrupt and destructive as you are.”

“This makes me the perfect candidate to bring it back to its glorious seat of power.”

“That’s all you. Bringing El Norte back don’t interest me.”

“It should. I plan to make it the most powerful of all the gangs in here,” Calderón said with a wicked smile. “You will be placed second in charge to make this happen.”

“You deaf or something? I want no part of you or that fucked up gang. Go resurrect it from the dead yourself.”

“You are making a dangerous mistake by refusing my offer. I am not one to be made an enemy of.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Alvarez said in an uncaring tone. “We’re done.”

“Who leads the remnants of the gang?” he got his last question out.

“Don’t know.”

It was not that he lied to protect Urbano---he already made up his mind that he did not like Calderón and was not going to give him any type of information. The feeling seemed to be mutual as El Cartel got up and shot him a dangerous look before he left the computer room. Alvarez took a deep breath and exhaled through his mouth as he watched the man through the large glass windows separating the computer room from the rest of Em City.

That look was there in his eyes. El Cartel was out for blood and Alvarez was positive of whose blood it was going to be. The man had those fatal brown eyes and an even more dangerous way that he carried himself. He looked to be around the same age and have the same body type as Alvarez. His hair was as black as the darkest night and his skin glowed a healthy caramel hue. He was unconventionally handsome, but his ice-cold eyes and deadly body language made it impossible for anyone to get too close without having that fear inside them.

The Latino remained mainly to himself for the rest of the day but knew El Cartel had been sneaking looks at him since their unsuccessful meeting in the computer room earlier. He was not going to be ruffled or used by this power-hungry warlord as he had allowed himself to be in the past. Torquemada and Pancamo would take him out if he became a problem---or he and O’Reily would. El Cartel was not going to get what he had come to Oz to get. A huge target had already been drawn on his back.

After lights out, Torquemada slinked around the pod as if he was looking for something---as if something was on his mind. Alvarez had swallowed a D-tab shortly after dinner and was still feeling its effects as he rested on his bed and stared anywhere that interested his eyes. O’Reily had been avoiding him since what had happened between them. Alvarez knew he needed time to figure out what was going on inside his head so he was not going to push. But, they needed to talk about El Cartel and what his arrival meant to the game.

“Miguel, honey---” the sick queen began to say.

“No---I’m not doing that,” the Latino answered back because he knew what the bastard was going to say. “All my clothes are staying on.”

“You’re so cute---even when you’re wrong. I’m not talking about that,” Torquemada said and sat on his bed---next to him. “I need some information.”

“About El Cartel? I already told you all I heard about him.”

“I have no doubt he will make the first move against us. Nevertheless, I’m not worried about that. He will be dealt with when that time comes.”

“Listen,” Alvarez seriously said and gave them some space from one another. “I’m ain’t one of your fucking lackeys. I ain’t Urbano.”

“I would never begin to classify that inbred fool as being anywhere near the same league as you. He’ll get what is coming to him.”

“Doesn’t concern me the least bit.”

“A blind man could see that, sugar,” the flamboyant man said with a slight giggle. “I need information on one Ryan O’Reily.”

His pulse quickened at hearing the name, but he remained cool and said, “What makes you think I know anything about O’Reily?”

“Well, you two have been in Em City for years now. Surely you must know something about him.”

“He and I don’t cross paths very often. We were allies during the riot---but that was a long time ago. We got no business with each other.”

“I see,” Torquemada said without any expression on his face. “I need for him to ally himself with us. His skills of persuasion and record of getting what he wants in here are invaluable to me. They are, after all, legend in this place.”

“Go convince him, then. I’m sure he’d like to get his ego stroked,” he said and cringed inside of the thought of Torquemada being so close to the Irishman.

“I’d like you to do that.”

“Do what?” the Latino said and was on the verge of being defensive.

“Encourage him to join us---sling D-tabs. I know you can be persuasive when you want to be as well.”

“I told you---I ain’t some fucking grunt to be moved around however you want. If you want him dealing D-tabs, go talk him into doing that shit yourself,” Alvarez said and did not like what the conversation had turned into.

“This is disheartening. I need you to do this for me, Miguel---for control of Em City.”

“Already said I wouldn’t. You think you can trust him?”

“About as much as Pancamo and Urbano will trust me after I’m through with them,” the queen snickered and got up from the bed. “His reputation precedes him. He is a wild card I must have on my side. I can’t take any chances where he is concerned.”

“Your funeral.”

“Will you cry, dumpling? Will you cry if I were to meet with some unfortunate fate?”

“We both know the answer to that,” he dryly replied and turned away to get some sleep.

“I suppose we do,” Torquemada said with a sad smile. “So tell me, Miguel---who is víbora?”

Alvarez felt his heart do a somersault against his ribcage when he heard the Spanish word that only he and one other person inside Oz knew about. He did not bother to turn back around or give an answer as his mind was reeling with treacherous possibilities. Torquemada had heard him say his codename for O’Reily. It had to be while he was on Destiny because his brain could not remember ever spilling the codename otherwise. The Latino felt a jolt of panic at the possibility of what the queen could possibly know.

The partnership would be exposed and used against them both if Torquemada ever found out what was really going on between him and the Irishman. Now, more than ever, he had to watch where he stepped and how he handled himself around everyone. There was no doubt that the queen had other inmates monitoring him---both of them. Alvarez had to think fast to come up with a plan, but Destiny was still ravaging his mind.

He could not overreact to the situation. If he panicked, it was all going to be over and Alvarez knew this better than most of the other inmates in here. He was not going to let Torquemada get under his skin and get the answers he was searching for. The man had a suspicion and nothing more to go on. It might just be a big fantasy inside his head, but outside of it, nothing was going on between Miguel Alvarez and Ryan O’Reily. There was no proof of anything to suggest otherwise. They were both extra careful to cover their tracks for this reason.

“That’s all right, darling,” Torquemada said before he prepared to go up to bed. “The answer’s not important anyway. Sweet dreams, my angel.”

 

**It was quiet** in the interview room as he waited for the lawyer to come and explain his plan to keep Seamus O’Reily from ever seeing one day on death row. Per his father’s request, O’Reily hired a new lawyer to head the case. Zelman was not able to save Cyril and his father feared that the same outcome would be his as well. The stress and worry was festering inside him and threatening to take control again---as it had when he was with Alvarez.

That encounter weighed heavily on his mind. It had forced him to think about being in that small room---Alvarez being inside him. His body had healed from the encounter, but his head was still a cloudy mess about the memory itself as well as the experience. As a result, O’Reily was avoiding him for the time being---at least until he figured out what his next move was going to be. He body fell under some kind of spell every time he was alone with the Latino.

The door opened and an older man greeted, “Mr. O’Reily? I’m Bryan Rockford.”

“Skip the introductions and get down to business,” he said and ignored the other man’s extended hand. “I need you to make sure my dad never sees death row.”

“Well, the state’s adamant about their case.”

“I don’t give a fuck. That’s why I hired you. Get it done.”

“Mr. O’Reily,” Rockford said as he opened his briefcase to retrieve files. “Your father killed another inmate in cold blood. And, from what I’ve read, this was his second attempt at Jahfree Neema’s life.”

“Look, spare me the details, all right. I know what happened,” O’Reily annoyingly said.

“Seamus O’Reily had malice in his heart---ill will towards Neema. Malice implies premeditation. His prior attempt on the man’s life practically cements this.”

“So, you’re saying you can’t do anything?”

“I’m saying to be cognizant of the facts of the case,” the lawyer said as he resumed perusing the files. “It will be an uphill battle. You need to prepare yourself for that.”

“I don’t need to prepare myself for anything,” he snapped. “Do whatever you have to do to get him cleared of death row.”

“But, Mr. O’Reily---”

“Ryan! My goddamn name’s Ryan!”

“I’ll---I’ll get to work on it,” Rockford said with a bit of trepidation in his voice.

“That’s what I’m paying you for.”

The new attorney had laid out a few options and scenarios for him before their meeting had ended. The trial was scheduled to start in a few days and O’Reily had some nerves. This entire process did not end well the last time. He thought about Cyril as he made his way back. He remembered their last conversation and the entire fantasy he and his mother made up to keep him calm in his final days of life. He still had not let go of his baby brother.

Inside his pod, the Irishman paced around as he waited for his word to get back. Upon entering Em City, he had seen Torquemada buzzing around Alvarez and his blood had gone cold---as if ice water was running though his veins. A hint of envy and revulsion had sparked inside his system upon the sight. The Latino had seen him, but their gaze could not be kept for long in such a public place. O’Reily wanted to rip the queen’s hands from his body and beat him to death with them. The door stabbed through air and opened.

“You wanted to see me?” Meaney announced himself.

“Liam---hey. Yeah, come in---come in.”

“You heard about the new guy---the spic? His name’s Calderón,” he said.

“I heard in passing about him---El Cartel. He’s no concern to me---yet. That’s not why I asked you here.”

“What’s up?”

“Has Torquemada approached you?” O’Reily asked while remaining as vague as possible.

“The faggot? No. Why?”

“Shit. That means you’re not on his radar.”

“What’s going on, man?” the grunt asked and was confused.

“Listen, I need you to do something for me---something very important. You can’t fuck it up, Liam.”

“What the hell is going on, Ryan?”

“You have to be a double agent for me,” the Irishman said as he stared outside at the quad. “Go to Torquemada and tell him you want to start slinging D-tabs.”

“What? I don’t want anything to do with that fag,” Meaney disparagingly said.

“Listen to me---listen to me. Torquemada’s gained a lot of power since he first came to Oz,” O’Reily tried to explain without giving away too many details. “I have a plan to slow him down for a while. That’s where you come in.”

“But---but the warden said it’s an instant trip to the hole for anyone who gets caught with drugs.”

“That’s why you won’t get caught.”

O’Reily was in no mood to go this deep into the conversation but he could tell that Meaney was apprehensive about the whole idea, so he needed to be patient. It was crucial that someone other than him approach Torquemada to start pushing his precious D-tabs---someone O’Reily knew he could easily manipulate to get the job done exactly how he wanted it done. The loyal grunt was the perfect person for the job.

“You won’t get caught by the hacks or anyone else,” he said in a convincing way. “Collect the supply of D-tabs he gives you to push and bring them all to me.”

“Bring them to you---why?” Meaney asked.

“Look---don’t question me right now. Just do what I’m telling you to do. You want that cocksucker and his D-tabs running Em City?”

“No---hell no. I don’t understand.”

“When have you ever understood any of my plans?” O’Reily said---his patience gone. “I don’t need you to understand anything. Just do exactly what I told you to do. Can you handle that?”

“Yeah. I got it,” he said. “Wait---what if he asks me about you?”

“Tell him you see D-tabs as the future of Em City---and that I don’t. The fuck will buy that. His ego will love you.”

“I’ll do it during dinner tonight.”

“Make sure you talk to him---not Pancamo or Urbano. And, only bring me up if he does,” he said.

“What about Alvarez? You see how he lets that fag touch and hang all over him? I always knew he was a fag, too.”

“Liam---focus on what I told you to do!” O’Reily retorted to the underling. “Alvarez isn’t our concern---Torquemada is.”

“All right---all right. I hear you.”

“Don’t fuck this up!”

He sent the grunt on his way and felt some sense of relief when he was alone again. O’Reily always knew this about himself, though. He always felt better when he was working an angle or had some plan in motion to give him the upper hand without anything ever being traced back to him. It made him feel secure for all these years in Oz. His mind-fucking was evolving and getting deeper and more convoluted. That way, his desirable results was practically the only option left.

The Irishman had felt it again and wanted to hate himself for it. Meaney’s harsh words about Alvarez had taken him to that same protective place he found himself increasingly spending more time in. Now that Torquemada had made it known that he wanted to share some kind of twisted bond with the Latino, O’Reily’s concern and protectiveness for the Latino had skyrocketed into the stellar regions of his mind. It was a place inside his head that was previously only reserved for the likes of his mother---and Cyril.

Later, those emotions had stuffed themselves away because he was in the hospital ward working. Some inmate he did not know had gotten into a fight in the cafeteria during lunch so Dr. Nathan and a nurse were patching him up when he came in. O’Reily felt weird because he thought there were residual feelings for her, but also wondered if it was just his mind’s safe place to go to because of what he had done with Alvarez---how sexually bonded he had allowed them to become.

Much of the experience he remembered but there was still so much that was fuzzy or just made no sense at all. Mostly, all of the raw emotions and sensations his body had experienced throughout it all had remained intact. It was the words said between them that eluded him---if he had begged to be fucked. O’Reily leaned against the counter in the medicine room and thought about the electricity his body had felt when Alvarez was inside him---how the colored spots had danced in front of his eyes. He shuddered at the thought of it all.

“You look a million miles away,” Dr. Nathan said as she came into the room to get some medication.

“Huh, oh, no---no. Just thinking,” he recovered himself and said.

“About your brother?”

“I know he’s gone, but---but part me still believes he’s here.”

“That’s your faith,” she said warmly. “The ones that die never really leave us. I know it sounds strange---coming from a doctor and all, but when you take away science and technology, what are we left with? Faith---our souls.”

“I guess.”

“Your brother knew you did everything you could for him. Cyril knew how much you loved him.”

“It wasn’t enough to save him,” O’Reily sadly said.

“Maybe---maybe it wasn’t meant to save him. Maybe it was meant to save you. Help you find your way.”

“There is no way for me to find. I’m stuck in this pisshole for the rest of my life. You know there’s no such thing as hope in Oz.”

“Ryan, there’s hope everywhere. Even in the darkest and most desolate places in the world, there is some hope,” Dr. Nathan said to him and then addressed the nurse that walked into the room. “Get him started on this and we’ll see how his wounds react.”

“Yes, doctor,” the nurse said and left.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he said.

“Okay. I hear you hired a new lawyer for your father. How’s he doing?”

“I’m going to see him after I’m done here---tell him about the lawyer and stuff.”

“I’m proud of you, Ryan,” she said and gave a small smile. “I see that you’re really trying to fix your relationship with him.”

“We’ll never be like other fathers and sons out there,” O’Reily said and knew it was true. “It’s good enough where it is now.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure the lawyer will do everything he can think of to keep your dad from getting sent to death row.”

Dr. Nathan left him alone when another patient was calling for her and he used the opportunity to build back up the brick wall that protected him. Everything---from his thoughts and emotions about Cyril and his father to his feelings about Alvarez went behind the wall while his bravado and manipulative ego stood out in the forefront. This was how people knew not to mess with or double-cross him. He was the viper for this reason.

O’Reily continued working through an otherwise uneventful afternoon in the infirmary. He had begun to have second thoughts about his plan, and Meaney’s involvement, but had to put that all aside because everything was already in motion. Even if he told the grunt to back off and forget it, Torquemada was still a growing problem in Oz. His fingers were being outspread to more and more of Em City---they were touching Alvarez far too much.

A hack escorted him away from the hospital wing and down to Solitary to have a few minutes with his father. He thought about what Dr. Nathan had said to him---about him finding his way through his brother’s death. It could not be the furthest thing from the truth. Cyril would hate him if he knew what his life had become---what he had done. O’Reily knew that if his brother were alive, he would severely disapprove and condemn him for what he had allowed his body to give in to.

Maybe it was all in his head. Cyril had always looked up to him---had wanted to be him. They had been so close before the accident, and had bonded for life after the accident had left him with the brain capacity of a five-year-old. The Cyril he knew would never turn his back on him---even if O’Reily had willingly allowed himself to succumb to the darkness and give Miguel Alvarez intimate access to him. A small part of him did not regret what had happened---did not regret the unbridled pleasure his body had experienced.

Then he thought of how horrible it had been for Cyril in that closet when he had first come to Oz. Schillinger and his bastard cronies had taken turns raping him. Being in the mindset he was doomed to live, all his brother had known to be in that situation, as with most others, was scared. The fucks had taken turns sticking their unprotected dicks inside him while they had laughed and enjoyed the throne of power. Now they had both known what that felt like, though through a very different set of circumstances.

“Hey, pop,” O’Reily greeted when the gates of the cell were open.

“Ryan,” he greeted and hugged his son.

“The gate stays open---Querns’s orders,” the hack said and left both doors open.

“Fucking Querns. He’s not making this easy,” the Irishman said and they broke apart.

“Don’t worry about that, son. You got a lawyer?”

“Yeah---spoke to him this morning. He seems smart.”

“What did he say?” Seamus O’Reily asked and sat on his bed.

“He’s going to explore every option to keep you away from death row.”

“Good. He better fucking figure it out soon. I hate it here.”

“Well, dad, if you knew how to control yourself---or at least have someone else do it to keep your hands clean, we wouldn’t be stuck in this shit now,” he said and felt himself getting upset.

“He had to die. That nigger took too much from me already.”

“And saying shit like that will make sure you end up executed. Keep your goddamn mouth shut!” O’Reily snapped, and was quickly losing what little patience he had left. “I mean it, dad!”

“Who the fuck you think you talking to like that?”

“You, old man. We do this my way, or you’re on your own.”

“You wouldn’t do that---not after Cyril,” his father said as if it was supposed to mean something.

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do, then. This isn’t Cyril all over again. You keep fucking up and I’ll let them throw your ass on death row to rot. Got it?”

“Fuck you.”

“I knew you’d see it my way.”

Their relationship had progressed, but it was never going to come anywhere near what most considered a normal father and son relationship. Neither of them knew how to be normal or act normal---think normal. O’Reily had to get control of the situation because, despite their constant fighting and bickering, he did not want to lose his father. Oz was not going to claim another one of his family. Seamus O’Reily glared at him but eventually calmed himself down because he was no fool. He knew he would need all the help and support he could get in the battle for his life.

“I told ma,” the Irishman said into the silence.

“What did she say? She must be happy I’m facing the death penalty.”

“She wants you dead. Said she could do it with her own hands.”

“Killing---it must run in our family,” Seamus O’Reily said and let out a barrel laugh.

“Ma would’ve never gone back to you. I don’t get why you fucking killed him.”

“Time’s up, boys,” the guard walked in and said. “Say night-night, O’Reily.”

He was ushered away from Solitary and towards the cafeteria because dinner had already started. Now was when Meaney was going to make his move to start the plan. A flash of excitement and power passed through him, as it always did when he began a new plan. He stood in the line to get food, kept a low profile, and could see Meaney already hovering over the table where Torquemada and Alvarez were sitting. He had to be careful that the Latino did not catch his eyes.

O’Reily waited in his pod after they had all returned from dinner for news of the meeting. Meaney had talked to Torquemada throughout all of dinner---he had to have been accepted. The queen was upstairs in his pod and O’Reily knew he could not meet Meaney where he currently was. He saw the grunt approaching but quickly left his pod and walked under the stairs and behind the large column to offer a bit of privacy. Meany came a few minutes later.

“What happened?” O’Reily whispered. “Did he believe you?”

“Yeah. He gave me ten D-tabs to distribute.”

“Already? Good. Give them to me.”

Meaney reached into his pocket to produce the pills and said, “He was asking me a lot of questions about you.”

“I bet. What’d you say?”

“I played dumb---just like you told me to.”

“No one knows how to play dumb better than you, Liam,” he said and smiled at the insult. “Now get out of here before anyone sees us.”

His underling disappeared as quickly as the conversation had ended and O’Reily made his way back to his pod to get the D-tabs away from his body as soon as possible. He could not afford a trip to the hole right now---not when Torquemada was free to do whatever he pleased in Em City. Turning his back to the glass, the Irishman removed all the pills from his pocket and set them away for the second part of his plan. He only had to wait one more night before he could buy himself some time to come up with the real plan.

Following breakfast the next morning, the inmates returned and went about their own ways. Most went to watch TV or in the computer room, while others stayed in their pods or went to make telephone calls. By a stroke of his Irish luck, Torquemada was nowhere to be seen in Em City. Alvarez, however, was sitting by himself at a table upstairs and fingering through playing cards in his hands. O’Reily had to seize the opportunity that was given to him so he walked up the stairs.

“Hey,” he said and nerves immediately came to life inside him. “You want to play?”

“Why not. Anything that’ll pass the time,” Alvarez said to him. “Sit. Poker?”

“Sure.”

“This should be easy for you. Your lying face is more convincing than your real one.”

“Funny. Where’s Torquemada?” O’Reily looked around and asked.

“Don’t know. I’m not his keeper.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“So why you asking me for him?” the Latino questioned.

“Just making conversation. Geez---relax.”

“Well, make it about something else.”

“What’s wrong with you?” the Irishman asked and took three cards.

“Something look wrong? You should ask yourself that question.”

“Look, Alvarez, this isn’t the time or place to get into that.”

“Name both and I’ll be there,” Alvarez said in a serious and low tone.

“Everything’s crazy with the hacks. Not right now.”

“Keep avoiding me.”

It was obvious they needed to talk---the conversation right now between them seemed so forced and awkward. O’Reily was making plans without him. That defeated the purpose of the partnership and he did not like excluding the Latino. They had been through too much and had endless possibilities for the future to allow the partnership to fall into ruin. Torquemada was not going to come between them. He was not going to gain control of Em City.

He moved the chair closer to Alvarez’s side of the table and was cautious of the time because he had already been at the table for too long. A hand slipped in his pocket to retrieve a few D-tabs---they rested on his lap as his hand reached over and touched Alvarez’s thigh. O’Reily smiled and continued to play cards as if nothing was wrong. He felt when the Latino pushed his thigh against his hand. In one slick moment, O’Reily grabbed the pills from his lap easily slipped them into the cusp of Alvarez’s front pants pocket.

His first three fingers continued to softly stroke against the other man’s clothed thigh while his pinky finger worked hard to go undetected as it pushed the D-tabs into the safety of Alvarez’s pocket. Once he was sure that the pills were where they needed to be, O’Reily played one more game and left the table before anyone had a chance to notice them being so close together. He went down the stairs just as Torquemada was entering Em City. _For your own good._

Torquemada walked over to the TV section to talk to Pancamo and the Irishman gave the signal to an inmate he had made a deal with over dinner yesterday. The man jumped up and started attacking another prisoner next to him and the whole of Em City took notice and started hooting and cheering. The hacks scrambled to break it up as many the inmates surrounded the fight---itching for any form of entertainment.

The group was thick enough and, as the hacks tried to penetrate it, O’Reily made his move by sneaking into the crowd to exactly where he needed to be. Behind a very distracted Torquemada, he cautiously stuck his closed fist out and made contact with his pocket. The queen did not notice anything and O’Reily could see that his paid distraction was quickly being contained. Within the next few seconds, he deposited the pills into Torquemada’s back pocket and got out and away from the mob.

The Irishman was leaning against the outside of his pod to give the illusion that he had been there throughout the entire fight. The grunt he hired was thrown in the cage and the other inmate was being escorted to McManus’s office. He dipped into his pod and raided inside his mattress for the remainder of the prescription pills he had stolen from the hospital. O’Reily watched as they swirled around and disappeared as he flushed the toilet. He was not going to take any chances of the plan being derailed or changed in any way.

Like a true venomous viper, he waited a few hours before the last leg of his plan could be put into action. They were all walking back to Em City after lunch and his excitement and regret were overwhelming. It had to be done for the better of the partnership, though. O’Reily walked up to the guard station and to Officer Murphy. All he had to do was finesse the conversation between them to go a certain way and his plan would manage to buy him time---the precious time he needed.

“What do you want, O’Reily?” the hack asked.

“That fight earlier---what the hell was that about?” O’Reily said.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t know, man. I heard one of them talking about stolen drugs before the fight started.”

“And now you’re being a good citizen---is that it?” Murphy said with a heavy dose of skepticism.

“Hey, just telling you what I heard. The drug problem has gotten out of control lately.”

“All right, you’ve said what you had to. Get going.”

“Well, there goes my good deed for the day,” the Irishman said and smiled.

“I’m sure.”

It was a little while later and he was standing outside his pod, waiting for it to happen. Torquemada and Pancamo were talking upstairs---probably plotting their next move. Alvarez was in his pod by himself and had no idea what was coming. A knot swelled inside O’Reily’s stomach but there was no other way to separate the two of them. He had to deal with it because there definitely was no turning back now. After another few minutes, the gate clinked opened and more hacks entered with dogs attached to leashes.

“Shakedown! Shakedown!” Murphy yelled out over the buzzers.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**The air inside Em City** felt cleansed after the shakedown had occurred yesterday. Many of the inmates were going through withdrawals and a number of fights had broken out over the sudden lack of Destiny within the prison system. O’Reily now saw firsthand how wide Torquemada’s reach in the prison truly extended, and it made him sick. Everything had calmed down, but the hospital was bombarded with inmates suffering from classic withdrawal symptoms. He had been so busy on his shift yesterday.

The Irishman knew he had taken a big risk by creating and executing the plan by himself. A part of him was desperate---desperate to keep them as far away from one another as possible. He knew that Alvarez did not fare well in small, enclosed spaces by himself---being like that overwhelmed his mind and body. He could only imagine what was going on inside his mind as he was banished to the hole. O’Reily felt shreds of guilt and remorse as the days passed---and, more than that, he missed the loco Latino.

Another key point to the plan, aside from separating him from Torquemada, was to get Alvarez sober and away from his dangerous dependency on D-tabs. The trip to the hole served as a makeshift detox session to get him clean and far away from Destiny. O’Reily was not going to watch his partner fall further into the clutches of that power-hungry queen. D-tabs were the key. Torquemada used his drugs to exert some kind of control over Alvarez. That was why he had to get sober, and the hole was the perfect place to do it.

Now, he needed to come up with a plan to permanently get rid of Torquemada---especially now since D-tab movement had been halted since its creator was also spending some time alone and naked. He had to figure out an angle that would work to bring the queen down. O’Reily felt weird---he had for the past few days. He had been mainly avoiding Alvarez but now, he wanted him back in Em City---wanted him close again. His mind was so distracted and consumed with thoughts of how the man was faring in the cold and lonely hole.

“Em City feels different since that fag got tossed in the hole---don’t you think?” Meaney said to the preoccupied man. “Ryan? Yo, Ryan?”

“What?” he answered and looked around to see that they were in his pod.

“You all right? You look like you’re distracted or something.”

“I’m good.”

“What’s the next move?”

“Haven’t figured it out yet,” O’Reily said and dispelled his mind of thoughts of the Latino.

“You probably got twenty days to a month before Torquemada gets out. I heard the hacks talking about how the warden wants to make an example of him.”

“Good.”

“Man, I can’t believe Alvarez got caught, too. The spic’s a fucking moron.”

He thought he was going to get upset but instead said, “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

“What’s wrong, Ryan? Why are you looking like that?”

“Stop fucking asking me that! You see anything wrong with me?”

“Geez, man---calm down,” the grunt said with a sliver of fear in his eyes. “I was just asking.”

“Well don’t. I don’t need questions from you.”

“You see who else got sent to the hole?” Meaney immediately said to change topics.

“Poet, Beecher, and one of the bikers. They’ll be out sooner than Alvarez or Torquemada though,” O’Reily said in a maintained voice and looked out to the quad.

“What about El Cartel? What are you going to do about him?”

“I’m not worried about him. If my instincts are right, I’ve just created an opportunity for him. He’ll be part of a plan he knows nothing about.”

“Which is?”

“Wait and see, Liam,” the Irishman simply said. “Just wait and see.”

If El Cartel was the smart warlord he had heard about from the other inmates, then he would recognize the opportunity O’Reily had generously presented him with and take full advantage of it. O’Reily had to slow down the distribution of Destiny within Oz and weaken Torquemada’s stronghold and influence over so many of the inmates. Now all he had to do was wait for Calderón to use his opportunity wisely and make his move.

He gathered up all the dirty clothes from around the pod and walked over to the laundry room to wash them before he had lunch and then work in the afternoon. A new Latino inmate was in the laundry room when he got there but neither said anything to the other. The man managed to get his mind back on Alvarez, though. The Irishman stuffed clothes into the washing machine as his brain spun webs to connect ideas and thoughts together to form a new plan. The suctioning of air pulled the door open.

“Hey, Burr,” he greeted the man.

“Get lost, runt,” Redding said to the Latino inmate and he quickly left without another word.

“I guess you want to talk.”

“Your father’s going to fry for Neema’s death?”

“The trial’s still going on,” O’Reily said. “Got a new lawyer so let’s see.”

“It couldn’t be any worse than what happened the last time.”

“You came to talk about my dear old dad?”

“Smart boy.”

“Didn’t think so. What do you want?”

“I need your help,” Redding said in that deep, raspy voice of his.

“Help costs,” he said and sat on the vibrating washing machine his clothes were inside. “You’re on the righteous path now, aren’t you, Burr?”

“I am! My boys look to be on a different path, though.”

“Can’t blame them. Telemarketing don’t pay the bills.”

“It’s an honest life---a worthwhile life. Poet slinging on the side defeats the purpose of his telemarketing job.”

“Skip the preaching. What do you want me to do about it?” O’Reily asked in a somewhat sarcastic way. “He’s not the only one of your boys pushing D-tabs behind your back.”

“I know. You see any of them slinging again, take them out---permanently,” the man said with a hint of malevolence. “You’ll get no retaliation from me.”

“Now now, Burr---plotting murders isn’t exactly for one who’s on the virtuous path, is it?”

“I’ve given them enough chances to be on the good path---to stay on the good path. If they cannot stick to that, then their usefulness to me has run out.”

“And you prefer to have their blood on my hands rather than yours? No deal. Haven’t you heard---I work in the hospital now. I heal people,” the Irishman said and smiled at the false irony.

“As well as an angel of death would I imagine.”

The man left after that and walked his way back through the quad. Being on the good path he was on had made him less of a threat in here. The homeboys were disobeying him and he was losing his influence over them. Redding seemed determined to get all the niggers away from slinging drugs---to airhole the ones who were dealing was extreme, though. Maybe he was not on such a righteous path as he believed he was. Taking out a few of the stragglers could be his way of wrangling the homeboys back under his control, though.

O’Reily knew all too well the position the man was in. After Cyril had died, he had promised himself and Dr. Nathan that he would devote his energy to helping other inmates survive the harsh world they were all forced to live in. That did not mean he was going to become a saint however, and anyone who thought that needed to have their head examined. Working in the hospital was better than the kitchen. It gave him a small sense of purpose to fill the void left by his brother’s death.

That did not mean that the Irishman was no longer a force to be reckoned with, however. He played the part of hospital aide well, but he also continued to keep his wits about him and about how things worked inside Oz. He was never going to give that up. With Keller dead, the only other person who could have come close to his mind-fucking capabilities was gone and that was a triumph. O’Reily was never going to go back or lose his influence as Redding did. Oz was a part of him, and he was a part of the wasteland prison.

A reason for why the partnership with Alvarez remained so vital and important to him---to them both. He was not going to go soft like Dr. Nathan had probably expected him to when he had told her about wanting to work in the hospital. Every day was a fight for survival in this cumhole and if he were to let his guard down, he would be seeing Cyril in the next life or wherever the hell his brother was now. O’Reily knew the importance of maintaining his force and power inside these walls. He knew the importance of Alvarez and getting his mind and body sober and away from that vicious queen.

“Are---are you finished?” the same Latino Redding had scared off earlier opened the door and asked.

“Do you see him here?”

“No.”

“Well, there’s your answer,” O’Reily said as he took wet clothes out of the washing machine.

“Okay,” he said and walked over to the dryer to retrieve his clothes.

“Don’t mind Burr. It takes him---it takes him a while to warm up to people. What’s your name?”

“Giovanni Vieyra---Gio.”

“What are you in for?”

“Possession of a stolen car and accomplice to robbery. It was all my fucking friends.”

“Yeah. That’s what they all say. Hey, kid---Gio, how old are you?” the Irishman asked, with a hint of curiosity about the new Latino.

“Twenty.”

“You want a piece of advice?”

“What do I have to do to get this advice?” Vieyra asked in a nervous but trying to be cocky way. “You’re O’Reily aren’t you? I’ve heard about you.”

“You have? What have you heard---about me?”

“Um---”

“Go ahead. I won’t kill you for repeating gossip,” he said and laughed as the other man became serious. “Geez---it was a joke.”

“Don’t trust you. Stay away from you and your deals. Don’t get involved. The usual stuff.”

“That can’t be all. I’m sure you’ve heard much worse about me---I know I have. But, let’s get back to you.”

“I---I don’t want any problems. I’m just serving my few years and getting out of here.”

“Take the piece of advice, kid. It’s free---this time,” the Irishman said in an uncharacteristically nice tone.

“What---what is it?”

“Grow a backbone. Any of these fucks see weakness and they’ll pounce on you quicker than a tiger would fresh meat. Grow some balls or you won’t make it to your few years to get out.”

“Hey, I got balls!” Vieyra said as he looked at him.

“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing.”

“Thanks, I guess. For the advice.”

“Don’t get used to it,” O’Reily said in the same tone as before.

He was not sure why the conversation had happened in the first place. There was just a sudden urge inside him to warn the kid about what he had really gotten himself into. In Oz, every day was a life and death struggle and, having to navigate through every day with that to bear took its toll on everyone. O’Reily did not want to see Vieyra end up like so many others that never made it out alive. There was still a youngness and innocence in his eyes---tainted innocence from mistakes, but innocence nonetheless. Maybe the kid reminded him of Cyril and his innocence---or maybe Alvarez.

Most of the inmates that were suffering from the withdrawal of Destiny had been released over the past few days so the hospital had quieted down to its normal daily activity. He was happy because having to cater to all those bastards was driving him crazy. O’Reily busied himself by ripping up dirty bed sheets to replace them with clean ones for other inmates to use. Dr. Nathan was in her office having a consultation with the nurse and a hack. He did not know what was going on there as he continued to work.

The Irishman stripped about ten beds and went to the linen closet to get clean sheets to make them up again. That was mainly his job---along with helping with patients and retrieving and filling prescriptions. Dr. Nathan trusted him in the medicine room, but he knew he was not worthy of that trust. O’Reily had stolen so many pills, but that was only to get him through the very rough patch of Cyril’s death. He was not going to allow himself to fall back into his old habits of drug dependence.

“O’Reily---making a bed? I really must be dying,” the Aryan Robson said from a bed across the room.

“What are you doing here? You beat AIDS and now can rejoin the masses?”

“No, you fuck. You can’t beat AIDS.”

“So, Robson, how does it feel to be the only Aryan left in Oz?” O’Reily said as he fitted a sheet on the bed and laughed. “Keller really did a number on you Nazi shitheads.”

“Eat me, you potato-sucking motherfucker.”

“With that diseased blood of yours, who’s ever going to want to even touch you now? A half dick and now poisonous blood. You’re going to have to get used to your hand for the rest of your days there, Jamie.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” he said and was getting distressed. “And don’t fucking call me Jamie!”

“There’s no such thing as the Aryan gang anymore. And, their sole surviving member is banished to the AIDS ward. I bet the niggers are happy about that.”

“A lot of good men died because of Keller,” Robson said in a sad voice.

“Says you. All you Nazis are bigots that got what you deserved.”

“If I wasn’t so goddamn weak, O’Reily---”

“Yeah---yeah. Conserve your strength, sleeping beauty. You miss spooning with your old pal Cutler?”

“Ryan!” Dr. Nathan firmly called out as she approached. “Stop that right now.”

“What---making up the bed?” he asked but already knew what she was talking about.

“No---agitating James. Please get back to your work and leave him alone.”

“Hey---he started it,” the Irishman childishly said.

“My head is starting to spin, Dr Nathan,” the Aryan said and his complexion looked a bit paler. “I feel dizzy.”

“Relax, James. Nurse, could you help me here?”

A paralyzing fear shot through him as he saw Dr. Nathan and the nurse tending to the fallen Aryan. Robson had fucked so many men while in Oz and then had become a prag---where he was the one being fucked by Cutler. O’Reily was more than positive that most of those encounters had involved no protection at all---like the lack of protection he and Alvarez had between them. His breaths deepened and his head became delirious with anxiety and worry about what he had let happen to his body.

He knew he himself did not have anything. It was the Latino he was unsure of. The thoughts immediately invaded his mind---he could end up as Robson was now, or worse. O’Reily had to take care of the knowing because he knew his mind would not let him rest until he knew his body was clean. He believed Alvarez when he had said that he had not messed around with anyone, but something could have gotten inside him since before he came to Oz.

O’Reily was freaking out as he watched Robson being cared for. He left the partially made bed behind and used the opportunity to walk into Dr. Nathan’s office. Files for all the prisoners were somewhere inside there and he was going to find what it is he was looking for. While keeping his eyes over his head to make sure he was still alone, the uneasy Irishman began searching through the office for one particular file. Medical books, folders, and many other miscellaneous items got in the way of his health.

Against the wall opposite her desk was a large filing cabinet with a master lock securely attached to it. His nerves were overwhelming as he tugged and pulled at the lock---hoping by some miracle that it would snap free. This cabinet had to be where all the files were kept. Now that he thought about it, O’Reily had never been sent to retrieve patient files. He had dealt with the various medication and the inmates one-on-one, but neither Dr. Nathan nor the nurses had ever sent him to retrieve any sort of medical files. After all the breaches to Oz over the past years, they must have finally wised up and took extra precautions now---especially after the anthrax scare.

He had to know and his mind was insane with anger and worry for his own body’s safety. Alvarez was the first man he ever got that close to, so the chances of him having anything were minimal. They were still there, though. The Irishman looked around the desk for something that could possibly pick the lock to gain access. A small enough letter opener looked like it could slip into the caverns of the lock so he tried it. He looked up when he saw two hacks rushing someone into the ward and a commotion started.

“Ryan! Ryan! Where are you?” Dr. Nathan was calling him.

He dropped the letter opener back on the desk, ran outside, and said, “Right here---oh shit!”

“Prep a cooler with ice right now. Hurry!”

“I’ll help him,” the nurse said and followed behind him.

“Can he be saved?” one of the officers asked.

“No. Once the heart has been severed from the body like this, there is no chance of the body recovering---even if I were to attach it back. His body is in too much shock.”

“But it’s still beating,” the other officer said and looked like he wanted to throw up.

“It’s still alive---he’s not,” Dr. Nathan said as she waited for the cooler. “If we keep it alive, it can be used for someone in need of a heart transplant.”

The nurse quickly dumped a bucket of ice into a small cooler and he rushed back outside to give it to Dr. Nathan. He stood close to the bed and stared as he saw a gaping bloody hole on the left part of Urbano’s chest and his still beating heart coddled in Dr. Nathan’s gloved hands. The man’s eyes were vacant and his body nude from the waist up. His mouth hung open as if he was trying to talk while blood rivers had already trailed off down his stomach, neck, and arms and were drying.

Calderón had seized the opportunity the Irishman had presented him with and had taken full advantage of it. O’Reily did not fault him, but this grotesque manner of death was overkill. He was sending out notice as a formidable threat within Oz and Urbano’s heart was the tool he was using to do so. It seemed that the man lived up to the ruthless tyrant title he had heard other prisoners describe him as. Urbano had really dug his own grave when he had muscled his way in as the leader of El Norte and had still been content with being Pancamo and Torquemada’s unthinking lapdog.

This was why the Irishman had to get Alvarez as far away from them as possible. If not, he very well could come to work one day and see the Latino’s body laying there without his beating heart attached to it anymore---or his head. He watched the still moving vital organ as Dr. Nathan carefully placed it on ice in the special metal cooler and sealed it shut. She had to get it down to the morgue and into the refrigerator as soon as possible. 

O’Reily had seen many things most people could never even dream about. He had seen the body’s insides as someone was sliced open from the stomach right in front of him. He had seen so much blood and carnage and violence one human could possibly do to another. He had seen the light leave someone’s eyes at the very moment of death. That in itself was an extremely haunting feeling to be there and watch eyes go out for the last time--- never to be revitalized again.

This was different, though. A beating heart that was no longer attached to the body it once belonged to. O’Reily continued to stare at it even after it had disappeared behind the metal of the cooler. It was an amazingly powerful feeling. He could only imagine what El Cartel had to have felt when he had ripped it away from Urbano’s body. There was no doubt in his mind that the man was responsible for this and, there was also a clear reason for the killing. O’Reily twisted a smile because he knew Torquemada and Pancamo’s regime had taken a huge blow this day.

“Ryan, can you get a body bag?” he heard Dr. Nathan ask him. “We have to get him to the morgue.”

“Huh---okay,” he said and went to do as she requested.

He slipped a fresh pair of gloves, retrieved a body bag, and headed back out to cover up the body. Zipper teeth came undone and he pressed the bag against the gurney to make sure it would stay when they were moving the body. Dr. Nathan and the nurse went to the other side of the body and they lifted him from one gurney to the other without much problem. The nurse snapped off her gloves and grabbed a clipboard to take notes as O’Reily tucked the body in the bag and began zipping it up.

Now was a chance he had to solve his problem from earlier. There was no way he was going to get into that filing cabinet and he was positive that Dr. Nathan was not going to allow him to look at another inmate’s personal medical records. That would have aroused too much suspicion anyway. O’Reily retrieved a pen from his pocket when everyone was preoccupied and quickly punctured a hole through one of his bloody gloves. He ripped the latex to make the hole more noticeable and easily tossed the pen in a nearby trashcan.

“Shit! Oh shit!” he cried out as if he were in danger. “Fuck!”

“Ryan---Ryan what is it?” Dr. Nathan turned around and said.

“Dammit---there a fucking rip in my glove! Shit! There’s a hole in my goddamn glove. His blood touched my skin!”

“Calm down, Ryan.” Do you have any cuts or open wounds on your hand?” Dr. Nathan came over and took his hand to examine it as she asked.

“No---I don’t know. His blood is on my hand.”

“Take off your gloves and run both your hands under hot water.”

“Maybe he gave you HIV, spudfuck,” Robson laughed and ridiculed him from a few beds over. “Looks like another one for Unit F.”

“James---that’s enough!” Dr. Nathan scolded him.

“I want this fucking checked out, now!” O’Reily said and demanded the tests. “I want to be tested for everything!”

“Of course. That would be a good idea. Go run your hands under water while I get ready to take a blood sample from you,” she said and sirens immediately blared around them.

“That’ll have to wait, doctor,” the hack said. “The prison’s on lockdown. Come on, O’Reily. Get rid of those gloves---you’re going back to Em City now.”

“Fuck you! I need to know if Urbano gave me anything. I’m staying right here!” he protested.

“Ryan, go with them,” Dr. Nathan said. “When you get back to your pod, run your hands under water for a few minutes and dry them thoroughly. When the lockdown is over, I’ll be able to run the tests.”

“Come on, O’Reily!” another hack said.

The waiting was going to kill him, but there was no more that could be done right now. If he resisted any more, he was probably going to end up in the cage or Solitary. He threw the gloves away in the hazardous bin and walked away from the infirmary with the two officers. The buzzers were still screaming over the intercoms because of Urbano’s death. O’Reily knew he had to be patient and wait until the lockdown was over to have the tests run on him to see if his raw sexual contact with Miguel Alvarez gave him anything.

It was a hard thought to think about but he had to put his body’s welfare ahead of its desires for the handsome Latino. No matter what the outcome, if they were going to be sexual towards one another again, a layer of protection was always going to be between them. O’Reily thought about it as he was locked away in his pod. The quad was oddly empty for this time of day and everything was pretty much quiet as if it were lights out---but with the lights on.

Getting contraband into Oz had become much harder since Keller’s parting gift to the Aryans and, getting condoms himself would cast suspicion upon him. Even if he were to have Meaney acquire them for him, the grunt would still know that he asked him to get condoms. He may be an underling, but O’Reily knew that even he could figure out that something was going on. The man was not that stupid or oblivious. There was no way he or anyone was ever going to know what he and Alvarez had been doing.

He looked around and thought about Alvarez in the hole. It was such a torturous move on his part, but it had to be done. The Latino could not end up like Urbano and they both had to get away from the drugs and refocus on what was important---refocus on getting the partnership back to its full force. Aside from the partnership, O’Reily had come to like the other, the deeper bond that had formed between them. He cared for Alvarez. He cared for the man’s wellbeing and his safety and his touch. _Loco._

 

**Demented walls dripped** into his senses as artificial light from above did nothing to tell him what time of the day it was. The lack of schedule messed with his equilibrium so he did not know how many days had passed since he was in confinement. His natural wiring was scrambling to reprogram itself so that he could cope without knowing when day turned to night and the general sense of time movement. In the hole, time became an irrelevant phenomenon that did not exist or had stopped altogether.

Food had not entered his body in days as he laid on the cold floor, naked and curled up to try and protect himself from the onslaught of withdrawal symptoms that plagued him. Miguel Alvarez felt his cheek pressed against the floor and his eyes were blurry because so many tears were passing through them. Maybe the river of streaming tears would drown him within its choppy waves. Maybe then, all the pain and hurt would finally be over.

His skin quivered and his nostrils filled with the repugnant scent of his waste that was in the bucket in the corner of the shapeless room. His body was tired of crying but his eyes had not gotten the message as of yet. The deprivation of Destiny made his body and mind brittle and susceptible to the other voices that were within him. Sometimes they came when he was awake. But theymostly talked to him in his dreams---or rather, nightmares.

Alvarez whimpered on the floor but his body had been in the exact position before. During the first days of withdrawal, the pain was always slow and unbearable. It had tested the will to live, fight, and survive. McManus had defended him to Querns’s policy---McManus, Sister Pete, and Dr. Nathan had all spoken out against it for inmates in the hole. The restraint chair had been taken out of the room when he had come there. It had never been used on him. This was only the case with him, however. That first day being locked in the deserted wasteland seemed like eons ago inside his mind.

He knew the cycle all too well. Alvarez knew that it was only going to be little longer before his symptoms were going to recede and Destiny was going to be completely expelled from his system. The cycle had not killed him this time---something inside him wished it had. Maybe he wished the pain and rejection and despair would have been too much for his broken body to handle and his heart would have stopped---no more breath could enter or escape his body. It might have been worth it to someone.

As much as he had promised himself in the past that drugs were not going to be a part of his life anymore, it had never been a promise he could keep to himself. He was less of a man because he could not even keep a promise to himself. Alvarez stretched out his arm and watched his lifeless fingers through tear-stained eyes. The digits did not move, even though he wanted them to. Maybe his body had decided to give up until it had fully repaired itself from the severe illusion D-tabs had placed on it---placed on him.

Every time the small slot had opened, his heart became alive by a jagged memory he was no longer sure was real or not. Destiny robbed so much from him---Oz robbed so much more from him. His mind was currently unable to connect together that O’Reily had no longer worked in the kitchen. There was no possible way the Irishman could get anything to him. There was no communication in the hole, anyway. It was yet another of the punishments that was enforced in the barren grounds and walls of the lifeless cell.

“Is that you?” he slowly whispered and felt like his throat was being ripped apart.

It was another illusion of someone being there with him---his body’s natural defenses to his loneliness and overpowering physical pain. Once the deprivation was gone, he was not sure if the voices and images would go as well because he would still be alone and trapped in a small and completely enclosed space. His mind’s endlessness was bound to run free and bring the voices back in full force. Alvarez could not control it now no more that he had been able to when he had been locked away in Solitary.

His frail body stayed there for what seemed like hours, or days, or years. His mind could not recognize the difference. The Latino desperately wanted to feel sunlight kissing against his skin. He wanted a cool breeze to stroke his face and wet water caressing and cleaning his entire body of all the filth, of all the drugs, and the bad memories of this place. He could almost feel sand in between his toes and the crisp taste of fresh air against his tongue. It was another cruel chimera created by his body to cope with the loss of D-tabs.

“Are you real?” his voice choked out under the intense pressure.

Alvarez’s mind was not well enough yet to think about how he ended up there. But, all the pieces were there for him to fit together and realize what had truly happened on the day of the shakedown. The drug dog had immediately come to him and Torquemada and had begun sniffing and loudly barking. Both had been busted without ever knowing that they had been carrying anything. He remembered that the dog had reminded him of Julie. _Julie._

Whenever his mind was sane, he only thought about O’Reily---how much his body missed that touch and those feelings and how much he missed those lips against his. Though few and far between, Alvarez knew that the memories of those sensations were what had sustained him inside the hole thus far. He had never wanted anything more than the Irishman’s trust and partnership---but they both had found themselves with so much more than that.

And, when his mind wanted to torment him even further, it had forced him to relive those thoughts of cold and emotionless nights in his pod---nights where Torquemada had fed him D-tabs and had succeeded in making him do so many sexual things to himself. All the stroking and licking his lips and touching his body in such sensual ways to please Torquemada’s hungry eyes had driven him mad when he was allowed to remember them. Those detached nights where he had stroked his dick for the other man’s amusement but only thinking of O’Reily.

That was his shame to bear. It was his memory to remember because it would not be destroyed. Bits and pieces had come back to him from all their nightly encounters. The queen had definitely gotten too excessively close for comfort. Torquemada had touched him---touched his muscles, and had run his nasty fingers along the length of his dick. Alvarez had realized that the flamboyant man, on more than one occasion, had tasted his very essence and had reveled in the power of it all. The power he thought he had gained by performing such an act.

His body was weak from the lack of food and proper rest. The brutal absence of D-tabs messed up his sleep cycle so he could not grab more than a few minutes at a time before his body would startle awake in the same cold sweat and damp nakedness that seemed to surround his life. Alvarez knew he could not come back to this place again. He knew his body could not experience the cycle of the highest high of drugs and the deepest low of withdrawal again. The never-ending cycle had to stop because drugs, or Oz, were not going to claim his life. Nevertheless, it would be so easy to let it take him---so he could get the chance to see his precious son again.

“Help me.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**The lockdown had lasted for** an entire day, but the hacks and the investigators still was not close to finding the culprit in Urbano’s heinous death. Warden Querns had addressed them on two separate occasions during the lockdown about the unacceptability of continued violence amongst the walls of the prison. The stupid fool was slowly losing what little control he thought he had in Oz. All his rules and regulations meant nothing because violence and drugs were still running rampant.

Pancamo had to be nervous about the precarious position that was forced upon him. His top underling was dead and his partner had been thrown in the hole during what had been a carefully orchestrated shakedown. The influence of D-tabs had all but dried up from the life vessels of Oz because of Torquemada’s brief nonexistence. It had to remain this way. Destiny had to be destroyed in order to maintain some sense of stability and monotony.

El Cartel had probably already gained control of what was left of El Norte by now---it was why he had airholed Urbano after all. A decent chunk of Torquemada’s hold on Em City died when Urbano did. Calderón was not going to let the queen gain as much power as he wanted. Dismantling part of his operation while he was indisposed was only the first strike in what looked to be a bitter and deadly war between them. He would have his work cut out for him once he got out of the hole. It would be his move to make next.

Em City retained an unusually calm feeling as O’Reily sat and watched TV with Rebadow, Busmalis, and Beecher. The earphones were only slightly covering one of his ears as his eyes darted around to see where the two men were. Pancamo was in his pod upstairs with two of his men standing outside the door as guards while El Cartel was nowhere to be seen. The man had many moves to make to get his gang to be a threat again. He had to fortify his numbers first and foremost. With the limited number of Latinos currently in Em City, that was going to be a challenge.

The plan had worked. He had to wait to go into work later to get the blood drawn to be analyzed, but it had ultimately worked. O’Reily had gone crazy in his cell waiting for the lockdown to be over so that he could have the tests done. If Alvarez had given him something---he did not want to think about it. He had to be clean---they both had to be clean. There was no other option in his mind.

“And so, my final _Sallycise_ episode will air in a few weeks,” Ms. Sally said from the TV. “But, we’ll have a lot of fun and get fit until then.”

“Why are they canceling _Sallycise_?” Busmalis asked as he watched.

“Why do you care, old man? Trouble in paradise with Norma already?” O’Reily said. “She not as good as the real thing?”

“Norma and I are fine thank you!” he snapped.

“You’re lucky, Busmalis,” Beecher said in a slightly sad tone. “At least you can see---can touch Norma.”

“Oh, Tobias. You still miss him, don’t you?” Rebadow said in his calm tone.

“You can’t just turn off something like that. Not something as strong as we had.”

“What the fuck are you babbling about, Beecher?” the Irishman said. “How the hell can two men be that connected to each other? You’re fucking out of your mind. Too much Destiny lodged in your brain.”

“No. We had something special. I don’t expect you to understand. How could you?”

“What’s that mean?”

“You’ve only ever allowed yourself to care about Cyril. Everyone else around are either objects for you to manipulate to get what you want or just dispensable,” Beecher said in a somewhat caring way.

“Watch it, Beecher,” he warned. “It seems that Keller and I had that in common, then.”

“Hey---I don’t want to fight. I’m not your enemy, Ryan. Chris did love me---in his own way he did love me.”

“He did,” Rebadow stated. “It may have been dysfunctional and selfish, but Keller had real feelings for you, Tobias.”

“We all knew it, Beecher,” Busmalis said. “Love knows no bounds---no sex, no age, nothing.”

“And that’s exactly what you’re getting with your new wife, Busmalis---no sex,” O’Reily said and laughed. “How is a marriage supposed to last without sex?”

“Sex is the ultimate physical manifestation two living creatures can experience with one another,” Rebadow said. “However, there are some intimate emotions and extrasensory perceptions that can easily conquer the physical contact of flesh. You should know this, Ryan. Especially in the case of your brother, Cyril.”

“What the hell? I’ve never wanted to fucking have sex with my brother,” he angrily said and was resisting the strong impulse to knock the old man out.

“No---think about it. When Cyril was executed, didn’t you want to be there to see it? Didn’t you feel him around you as it was being done? His spirit had to have touched yours in the very moments leading up to his death. That is far more powerful than two bodies being sexually joined together, don’t you think?”

“No. I didn’t feel any of that bullshit,” O’Reily immediately dismissed because he did not want to talk about it anymore.

It was a lie---a strong lie to cover up what he did not want anyone to know. For a few moments in the maze and before Dr. Nathan had come to him, a warm feeling had engulfed his insides. Something had told him that his little brother was going to be okay. O’Reily had never told anyone about it---not even his mother or Alvarez. It was one of the most personal and enlightening forms of deliverance he had ever experienced in his life. No one deserved to know what he went through on that day.

“Then Beecher is right. You have no idea of the boundless sensations one can feel without ever coming in physical contact with another,” Rebadow sadly said. “When there is a strong enough shared bond---”

“Right---whatever,” he snapped and left the TV area behind.

“Goodness, Bob, don’t you think that was a little harsh?” Busmalis said to his old friend.

“Yeah. I didn’t want to upset him,” Beecher looked at him as he was walking away and said.

O’Reily made his way back to his pod because he was not going to stay there to be condemned and viewed as a soulless void incapable of emotion or feeling. He had nothing to prove to any of them because they were of no importance to him. He dropped the earphones in his trunk and went up to his bed to keep his memories of Cyril from defeating him. Faith had helped him get though the execution, and God had allowed him to say a final goodbye to his brother---to know that he was going to be okay.

Some things the old man said seemed to be true---and he was wishing that they were not. But, there had been a strong enough connection between himself and Cyril without them ever having been intimate with one another. What scared the Irishman was that he had started to feel that connection with Alvarez. They were close so his mind could be confusing what it was supposed to be experiencing. But something further was there between them. It was something so much more than exchanging kisses or sexual advances. He had to condemn Beecher for his intense feelings for Keller because he did not want to experience them himself. But he did.

“Hey, Ryan, Calderón’s in the gym. He’s got about another hour there,” Meaney said after he entered the pod.

“Get lost,” he snapped.

“What---what’d I do?”

“Just get the fuck out.”

“Geez---bad mood much?” the grunt sarcastically said and left.

He did not feel up to dealing with anything but he knew that time was limited. He had to talk to Pancamo without El Cartel seeing them together and concluding that he was allied with Torquemada as well. That was never going to happen. O’Reily remained still for a few more moments to get his bursting thoughts under control before he got back to what he knew how to do best. He had to push Alvarez out of his mind and concentrate on driving a wedge between Pancamo and Torquemada.

It had to be a delicate process because Pancamo was thickheaded and believed that all the moves he made were the right ones. For right now, O’Reily just had to plant a seed inside his head against Torquemada and nurture it from a distance. He hopped up the stairs and stopped right in front of the two goons, waiting to see if he could have an audience with the muscular Italian. One of them knocked on the glass and Pancamo looked up and nodded.

“Yo, Chucky,” he said when he was inside the pod.

“What is it, O’Reily? You got half a second.”

“I heard what happened to Urbano.”

“Yeah---you and everyone else,” Pancamo said and was unimpressed. “What’s your business with me?”

“You know who axed him?”

“I have an idea, but we’re not in lockdown, are we? When I find out more, someone’s going to pay.”

“Sure. If you say so,” O’Reily agreed.

“You come to reminisce about Urbano?”

“Torquemada.”

Pancamo looked over at him and said, “What about him?”

“El Cartel. He’s got control of El Norte.”

“Stop talking in fucking riddles, mick. Say what you came to say.”

“Destiny’s fucking up the entire prison. You took a hit and lost some of your men,” the Irishman said and wanted to finish the conversation already.

“You offering me some sort of partnership there, O’Reily? There’s no other reason why you’d be here---other than to work a fucking angle.”

“I don’t was shit to do with D-tabs. Those goddamn pills are poisoning Oz. Urbano knew it and that’s what got him in the end,” he embellished to drive his subtle point across.

“Urbano knew what I told him to know.”

“That’s probably why he got whacked.”

“What’d you say?” the big Italian said defensively.

“Destiny is losing its ground inside here. You’ve lost men---lost influence. This shit’s going downhill fast.”

“Only until Torquemada gets out. We’ll have everyone back slinging in no time. Destiny will rule Oz like the plan,” Pancamo said and was still unsure of where the conversation was headed.

“But you won’t. Doesn’t look like there’s enough spotlight for two with Torquemada around. Face it, Chucky, you’re to Torquemada what Urbano was to you.”

“Get the fuck out my face, spud!” he sharply said. “Get out of here!”

“Hit a nerve? Looks like my cue to exit,” O’Reily snidely said and left the pod.

He was not sure if the muscled idiot had fully grasped the true meaning of the conversation but it was all he could do for now. O’Reily had to play it safe and easily build up doubt Pancamo’s mind about Torquemada. He could not launch a verbal assault against the queen because then his position would have been given away. The Italian had to see that he was going to be a waste of air once Torquemada’s fingers had spread out far enough inside Oz.

Lunch was over and he was headed to work, and to get his blood taken. Pancamo had given him a few looks throughout his entire time in the cafeteria and O’Reily knew what that meant. It was still too soon to expect anything, but the big Italian had the seeds of doubt plaguing his mind--- cognizant wheels were spinning with possibilities. He entered the hospital and went to sign in as he thought more about his work. Torquemada was in for a few rude awakenings upon his return from the hole.

The infirmary gave him a calming sensation because of how quiet it usually was. There were only a few patients---Robson was no longer there. The Irishman walked to the back room and saw the nurse preparing a needle for another patient. His skin crawled because he hated needles ever since he was in grade school, but he had to deal with it when the time came. Finding out if anything was in his body was far more important than his hatred of needles.

Dr. Nathan called to him from the other room and he went to meet her. She had gloves on already and was preparing a tray with an unused needle and a blue elastic band. O’Reily sat on the empty bed besides her and took a deep breath. She smiled and looked at him---it was not the same anymore. His feelings for her had completely changed and he was no longer interested in her---sexually or otherwise. She was a beautiful woman, but the chances of them being together were next to impossible so he had to give up on that front. She had made it clear on numerous occasions that she was not going to compromise her morals for him. It had to be this way.

“You ready?” she sweetly asked.

“Yeah. I’m just going to look away---I fucking hate needles,” O’Reily almost whined and she laughed a little.

“Okay. Relax your arm---your muscles. Don’t tense up or it’ll sting.”

“What’s the rubber band for?”

“To help find a vein,” Dr. Nathan said as she retrieved it and tied it tightly to his forearm. “I think I see one.”

“Go---get it over with.”

“Relax.”

“Talk to me. Distract me.”

“You’re such a little kid,” she innocently said.

“Hey, how did it feel---holding a still beating heart in your hands?”

“Well,” Dr. Nathan said as she stuck the needle into his skin and wiggled it around to find the right spot. “It was an amazing feeling. It was a sad moment too, though because someone had just died. At least we were able to preserve it so that someone else could get another chance at life.”

“Oz is a good place to harvest organs,” O’Reily said after he felt the pinch. “There are so many dead bodies around here---some even in the walls.”

“Ryan, that’s a cruel thing to say. And what happened to the Reverend Cloutier is no joking matter. No human being deserves to suffer the way he did.”

“Kirk went a little sadistic in the end there. Who knew he had it in him. How’s it coming?” he said, with his head still turned in the opposite direction.

“Just a little bit more.”

“This isn’t so bad.”

“Usually, when you relax, most things aren’t. There---we’re done,” Dr. Nathan said and she removed the needle from under his skin and loosened the elastic band from around his forearm.

“Test it for everything. I’m not taking any chances,” the Irishman said and sounded a little paranoid.

“The results of the HIV test will take about two weeks to return. I should have the results for the rest of the tests within a few days.”

“Great. Sound mind---and all that.”

“Can you help the nurse with that?”

“What---don’t I get a cookie, or something?” he said and laughed.

“Oh, Ryan.”

She taped a small circular bandage at the origin of the needle’s entry into his skin and left with the small vial of blood to log it in and run the tests that had to be done. O’Reily walked over to the nurse and helped lift a heavy box of supplies that needed to be unpacked. There were a few more in the back room, so he was tasked with doing that. His nerves were a little rattled because there was some possibility that he might have contracted something from his sexual contact with the Latino.

He did not know how to feel about it. It was probably only in his head, but he had to be sure that there was absolutely nothing between them. Alvarez was now the only one left in Oz that he was able to let some of his guard down with. It grew extremely frustrating and sometimes tiring always to have to watch out, plot plans, and keep up airtight defenses. O’Reily appreciated the fact that he and Alvarez had gotten to know each other on a deeper level---a level where most of those things did not matter between them.

That was why the partnership had come to be so important to him. It offered a desperate release from the routine of Oz. It offered a touch he had prepared himself unable to ever experience because of his life imprisonment. Alvarez had awoken something inside him and he no longer cared that they were two men. He was no fag, but the Latino made him feel good. O’Reily was not going to deny any pleasure he could find in the cesspool that was his life now. Both their bodily safety was something that was important too, though.

At dinner, the Irishman sat by himself and ate while thoughts of his father’s trial consumed his head. Rockford had briefly met with him a few days ago to update him on the case. He seemed optimistic about the chances of a drop of the death penalty. O’Reily tried to have a little positivity but, the last time he did, it had not ended the way he wanted it to. Cyril’s death still forced him to have nightmares and bouts of severe anxiety. The pills had helped, but he was not going to take the chance of being caught and being thrown in the hole. And he was going to remain sober.

Back in Em City, he grabbed his shower bag and towel and headed to the shower room to wash the residue of the day from his skin. Pleased to see that he was the only one in the room, he stripped off his clothes, rested everything on top of the half wall, and got under a showerhead. O’Reily desperately wanted hot water pounding against his skin and kneading all the knots out of his muscles but the hottest the water ever got was lukewarm. He cursed under his breath as the disappointing water crashed on his skin.

His mind could safely be let out for the time being. He was able to breathe and take a break from being the mind-fucker extraordinaire Ryan O’Reily. His short hair laid flat on his head because the pulsing water made it so. He opened his mouth and accepted some water as he gargled and spat it back out on the already wet floor. The water was not as inviting as he wanted it to be, but the sensation was good against his battered skin.

The Irishman’s mind was so wrapped up in its own moment of freedom that he did not hear when the glass door opened and someone else entered his once personal sanctuary. Through all the sources he had in Oz, he still did not know when Alvarez was going to come back from the hole. He must be going crazy in there for this long. O’Reily felt the guilt, but still believed that he had done the right thing for the Latino. The other man skipped the showerhead closest to him and stepped under the next one to get his shower started.

O’Reily finally turned his head and his mind snapped back into place as he said, “Hey.”

“Who are you?” Calderón asked when he looked over.

“A dealmaker.”

“Got no need for one of those.”

“I saw your work firsthand in the hospital,” he said and tried to goad the other man into a conversation. “An interesting take on wearing your heart on your sleeve I think.”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about, dealmaker,” El Cartel said in a neutral voice. “Don’t make accusations you can’t prove.”

“Hey---hey, relax. Urbano deserved everything he had coming to him.”

“You didn’t like the guy? Maybe you’re the one who did him in.”

O’Reily laughed and said, “Now we both know there’s no truth there. You’re secret’s safe with me.”

“Got no secret to be kept safe.”

“If you say so.”

“What are you trying to do?” El Cartel asked as he began soaping his skin.

“Just to see that El Norte is back in the right hands. Urbano was just another puppet.”

“So it would seem. The man who is pulling all the strings in the operation got sent away.”

“Torquemada?” O’Reily’s mind instantly took notice of where the conversation was going. “That cocksucker’s on a power trip. Wants to run Em City.”

“So, what do you want in return for all this---valuable information? You are a dealmaker after all.”

“Keep the Latinos away from slinging D-tabs.”

“That would hardly make a difference, seeing as our numbers are in very limited supply here,” Calderón said and there was a flash of light in his eyes.

“I’m sure you have a plan to bolster your ranks---bring El Norte back from the dead,” the Irishman said convincingly. “An opportunity was created. I’m sure you’ll take full advantage of it.”

“Was never one to waste a perfectly good opportunity. So, Torquemada---you have anything to do with him getting his time out?”

“Who---me? No. Not at all. He’s made a lot of enemies in the short time he’s been here,” O’Reily said and turned off the shower because he was finished. “That usually happens when someone wants to take over.”

“I see. And how do I know this isn’t some setup?”

“Listen, you know, all I want is for that fucking fag to not be running anything around here. D-tabs are the key to making that happen,” he said as he was toweling off his wet skin. “I’m just a guy looking to restore balance. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

“I will be able to---very soon,” El Cartel said with an obvious hint of foreshadowing. “Those who doubted the power of El Norte will come to regret it.”

“Yeah---sure. Whatever you say.”

O’Reily quickly slipped on a clean set of clothes and left the shower room behind to head back to his pod. The man was guilty of Urbano’s murder so that he could reclaim the remnants of El Norte from him. The slight sparkle in his eyes said that he had big plans for the Latinos in the near future. As the Irishman was finishing drying his hair in his pod, he wondered what all those plans would mean for Alvarez. He and the past leaders of El Norte had not exactly had the best partnerships or relationships.

Their main problem was always the same---they had all wanted to control Miguel Alvarez and, when they figured that he could not be, they wanted to break him and put him down. All of them had miserably failed because the loco Latino was an undisputable force to be reckoned with inside these walls. That had been their gravest mistake---that, and underestimating his potential and important usefulness. Alvarez was a man of pride and loyalty, so he had to be treated as such. Those other fools had no idea of the true extent of his potential and skills.

He watched across the quad to see two of El Cartel’s men enter the shower room as the boss was just finishing his shower. O’Reily knew the man was dangerous and was going to try to recruit the rogue Latino back into the reformed El Norte---if he had not already tried to. El Cartel could pose a problem to their partnership and he was not going to have that. Both he and Alvarez had worked hard to build up their partnership to where it was and neither Calderón nor Torquemada was going to destroy it.

However, the main threat at present was still the filthy queen and his poisonous D-tabs. Though Urbano was gone, and El Norte had broken away from Torquemada’s grip, he and Pancamo still had all the fags, Italians, and some of the niggers and bikers on their side. They were still a powerful force, and Torquemada would be looking for answers and revenge once he got out from the hole. They flamboyant man would also be looking to flood Oz with his precious pills as soon as possible. 

The Irishman had to play his next moves carefully if he wanted to keep his partnership with the Latino intact as well as surreptitiously adverting El Cartel’s gaze to Torquemada and vice versa. He wished Alvarez were here so that they could give each other ideas---the other man was an endless fountain ideas and suave moves. If El Cid or Morales had ever given him the proper chance, El Norte would have never fallen into ruin as it was now. O’Reily knew the tide was changing in Oz and he had to keep up to survive. It was what he had always done.

The next week had passed without much of anything happening. Pancamo still had default control of Torquemada’s empire, but did not have the keys to gain access to the kingdom. He was a leader in name only. El Cartel kept a low profile and the two of them had mainly steered clear of the other. The big Italian had to be frustrated because his hands had been tied since the queen had earned his trip to the hole. He had been awaiting Torquemada’s return and Calderón had been trying to grow his gang back.

Dr. Nathan had given him positive news about his blood tests. He had no abnormalities and his body was in healthy condition. The HIV test was the last piece of information to obtain. It still had not been two weeks yet, though. O’Reily stood outside of McManus’s office and waited because the unit manager had asked to see him. He had no idea what the meeting was about but had mentally prepared himself for anything. It was no big secret that he and McManus were not exactly fans of each other. A hack opened the door and left and he made his way in.

“You wanted to see me?” O’Reily said after he walked into the office.

“O’Reily---yeah. Sit.”

“I’ll stand. What do you want?”

“You haven’t had a podmate since Father Meehan died. You’ve been by yourself for too long,” McManus said from behind his desk.

“You sticking someone in with me? If you haven’t noticed, Em City’s been empty lately.”

“A few inmates have made parole yes, but there’s been a surge of violence and convictions recently. Most of these new inmates will end up filling out the half-empty pods out there.”

“So, I’m getting some new fuckhead that doesn’t know shit?” he asked and was displeased about it.

“No. I’m putting Liam Meaney in with you.”

“Oh, McManus, you have such a sharp mind there,” he condescendingly said.

“Don’t fucking patronize me, O’Reily,” the unit manager stood up and said.

“These new prisoners---they aren’t all spics, are they?” O’Reily asked because he had a bad feeling brewing inside.

“That’s none of your business. I don’t want any trouble from you.”

“I’ll be as quiet as a sinner burning in hell.”

“Try quieter,” McManus warned. “I got my eyes on you, O’Reily.”

“So---what else is new?”

“Liam will be moving into your pod later in the day.”

“Oh joy.”

 

**His back was** up against the nasty wall as his knees were fastened to his chest with his arms wrapped securely around them. He had suffered long enough and the deprivation had left his body. Alvarez knew Destiny was fully out of his system and real thoughts had flooded back into his mind. Some voices were still there and taunting him, but he fought hard to keep his voice the strongest out of them all---the only one that mattered.

Alvarez desperately craved a shower and clothes to cover his body. He felt his skin crawling with dirt and grime. It made him sick to think of everything that was on his naked body. Now that the withdrawal phase was over and he was spending more time in his real mind, he had more and more time to think. The Latino was still not eating and did not know how many days had passed on the outside. The lack of balance of nature in him continued to make him agitated and upset.

His forehead pressed against the top of his knees and his eyes closed as he thought about being back in Em City---as he often did in his loneliness of confinement. The shower room and scrubbing his skin clean passed through his mind. Walking up the stairs to go to his pod to relax or get some rest on a mattress enticed his brain. Seeing O’Reily making some underhanded deal that would usually end up with someone being hurt or dead stimulated his senses alive.

It was for all the wrong reasons, though. The Irishman betrayed him. It was why he had ended up in the hole. As more of his own thoughts trickled back to him, he was forced to think about O’Reily and being busted for having D-tabs in his pocket. Alvarez knew he never carried around the drug because he was not slinging anything for Torquemada. All the times he had been high, he had gotten and taken them directly from the queen. So there was never a need for him to carry about any of the pills.

He had been unable to piece it together because of his fragile emotional state due to his intense claustrophobia and withdrawal attacks from the abrupt lack of Destiny entering his system. Some semblance of reasoning behind the plotted move had plagued his brain, but he could not come up with anything concrete as to why O’Reily had set him up to fall into the hole. All Alvarez knew was that when he got out, he was going to find the answers to his questions---he was determined to get them.

The Latino felt weak and his stomach was churning out of anger and necessity because he needed to eat to sustain his life functions. He was in no mood to eat and the lunch trays had mostly remained untouched. He was grateful that he was not bound to the chair, as Querns wanted all prisoners in the hole to be. It was an abomination to keep people trapped like that. They were already in prison, and to have that kind of chair exist was purely to shove salt inside already raw and festering wounds.

When the last tray of food had come, Alvarez had managed to eat half the apple and drink the small box of juice. His body threatened to regurgitate the entire meal if he had forced anything more down his throat. It had at least been something to keep some kind of strength in his body. O’Reily was the main attraction in his mind. The víbora had bitten him more than once now and he was growing angrier the more he spent isolated and alone. His mind was especially dangerous when he was this defensive and felt as deceived as he did.

There had been no talking or planning about any of this. O’Reily had taken it upon himself to come up with and execute the capture by himself. Lack of trust had suddenly reared its formidable head back into the straining partnership. Alvarez knew that Torquemada had become a problem between them---that Destiny had caused a rift in the partnership. But being thrown in the hole without him knowing about it beforehand was unacceptable. The answers had to be good ones or the Latino was not sure of what he was going to do.

His body started to feel cramped so he stretched out and laid back down on the floor as his eyes caught the small light bulb hanging in the center of the damp and cold room. He desperately wanted it to be his own personal sun, but the false rays did not offer any kind of heat or warmth. Alvarez rested his hands at his sides and looked up at any point on the roof as his eyes focused wherever they wanted to. It was a cruel and ironic joke hanging that bulb from the middle of the room.

Alvarez did not want it to be this way. He did not want to feel such unbridled rage towards O’Reily. But, it was hard to ignore or swallow it down because of how sneaky the Irishman had been about it all. Their partnership was supposed to be about full disclosure and trust. That was what made him mad the most. They had gone so far out of their way, and comfort zone, to prove their trust to one another only to end up back in the same dismal place as before.

He was anticipating being let out to find answers to the questions that had been burning him for what seemed like months---there was no sense of time anymore. He was unsure of how much longer he could keep himself sane and alive in here. Alvarez turned to face the wall to try to get some rest---to get some form of escape before he woke up and had to experience the rejection and aloneness all over again. A shaking and stirring sound rumbled from the outside and he did not even want to turn to see what was going on.

“Miguel---Miguel, can you hear me?” he heard McManus call out.

“What---” he slurred out and turned his head, but the immense invading light beyond the doorway seared through his corneas. 

“Miguel, are you all right?”

“Weak---tired. My stomach hurts.”

“Can you sit up?” he asked and then turned to one of the guards. “Get his clothes.”

“Yes, sir,” the hack said and left.

“Miguel, can you sit up? I’m getting your clothes for you.”

“Why?” Alvarez asked without looking back.

“The guards tell me you’re not eating.”

“Not hungry. Can’t eat.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Here,” the officer came back with the Latino’s clothes.

“Miguel, come on---get up and get dressed.”

“No. Why?”

“Okay, here’s the deal, Miguel. I’ll take you out of here, but you have to stop using drugs and attend drug counseling sessions with Sister Pete. I’m signing you up.”

The Latino’s mind came alive with the words and he finally turned around to see if the words were true or not. McManus was there kneeling with clothing at the end of his extended hand. It had to be some kind of trick, but he was frantic to get away from the enclosing walls of the hole. In a swift motion, Alvarez grabbed the clothes---something reminiscent of the outside, and slipped the t-shirt over his head. He used the wall to help himself up and put on his pants. McManus and the two guards turned away to give him some privacy. He still believed that Alvarez could be saved from this fate.

“So, does this mean we have a deal?” the unit manager asked before he prematurely accepted his small victory.

“Anything to get me the fuck away from these walls. I---I don’t feel so good.”

“You want to go to the hospital?”

“No---no. I need a shower and someplace to rest that isn’t the floor,” the Latino weakly replied.

“Okay---let’s go, then. Can you walk on your own?”

“Yeah. I have to get out of here.”

“Miguel, who’s supplying you? Tell me,” McManus said when they were walking out of the walls of the hole.

“No,” Alvarez said because he was going to deal with that on his own. “Don’t want to talk about this.”

“You will have to tell me.”

“No. No---no.”

“Okay---okay. Let’s go back to Em City. It’s almost time for lights out. You’ll have the chance to take a shower before then.”

His mind was revitalized at the sudden turn of events as his eyes easily became used to all the light now assaulting his eyes. McManus told him that he had spent seventeen days in the hole and that both Father Mukada and Dr. Nathan had been worried about how he would fare the longer he had stayed isolated. Together, the three of them had managed to convince Querns to let him out early. Alvarez was grateful even though he knew he did not deserve it because of the reckless way he had been behaving recently.

Alvarez knew eyes were on him, especially one pair in particular, as he made his way back into Em City and up to his pod. He grabbed his towel, soap, and toothbrush and walked back down to the shower room. He was not going to pay any attention to O’Reily---not yet anyway. Calderón had taken notice of him as well, but he did not bother to look back and acknowledge the man. The Latino stepped under the blasting showerhead and only concentrated on getting himself clean---getting the hole as far away from his body and mind as remotely possible.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**The night spent alone in** his pod did a world of good for his psyche and his body. It felt revitalized and almost ready to do what had to be done. Alvarez had sat by himself during breakfast the following morning and had mainly kept his head down and to himself. Eyes had been on him but he owed no one anything---especially the deceitful Irishman. Time and again, O’Reily proved himself worthy of the name víbora. Alvarez had allowed his venom to seep dangerously too far into his system.

There were a few new faces around the walls that he did not recognize nor did he care to know. Now, more than ever, the Latino was determined to be the complete loner he had been before getting into the mind games and scheming with O’Reily. He was not going to go back there because it was enough. He had to refocus on himself. Alvarez walked upstairs to the empty classroom because Pancamo had dropped him word to be there during breakfast earlier. He knew something was going on and was about to find out what.

He entered the classroom and said, “What do you want?”

“Out of the hole already? How?” the big Italian asked. 

“Don’t know. Don’t ask questions when things are going my way.”

“Em City is dry. We need to make a move to get some D-tabs in here.”

“Fuck that. I ain’t getting caught with shit on me but clothes,” Alvarez said. “What’s the matter---Torquemada didn’t leave you in charge of anything before he got thrown away? What’s got you so spooked?”

“You goddamn spic! Urbano’s dead. That cocksucker Calderón made the first move against us.”

“You don’t say.”

“He took back El Norte and is bringing more of his men into Em City. More are still on the way,” Pancamo gave some information as if any of it would make a difference. “We have to make the next move against him---quick.”

“We? There’s no we, muscle-head. You’re on your own there.”

“You’re in on it---fucking spic asshole! You sided with him already,” he said in a dangerous way. “You playing me, Alvarez?”

“Haven’t even spoken to the man. You motherfuckers can kill each other for all I care. I’m out of it.”

“What about Torquemada?”

“What about him?”

“He’s going to have your fucking head when he gets out, bitch.”

“He won’t touch me. You, though, I’m not so sure,” the Latino suavely said.

“What’d you say?”

“The empire is crumbling before you---he’ll need someone to blame. It won’t be me.”

“Fuck you!” Pancamo yelled after him as he opened the door and left.

Alvarez was sick of all the bullshit and was in no mood to play the games of the prison anymore. Up until now, being by himself had mainly kept him safe and alive, but he was worried about El Cartel. The man was obviously bolstering the ranks of El Norte as if he was gearing up for war. Torquemada was not going to go down that easily, especially when D-tabs came back in the picture, but Alvarez knew he had to distance himself from everyone. He was not going to be caught up in a war that meant nothing to him.

He returned to his pod because he did not feel like being in the quad or watching TV. The conversation had gotten his blood racing, and he had bad feelings about what was going to happen inside Oz. El Cartel seemed like a man who was determined to get his way and was willing to go to any lengths to make it so. The queen had been laughed at and made fun of by other inmates, but he was dangerous in that so many constantly underestimated him. The fight for survival had just gotten more dangerous.

Now was not the time to be choosing sides to fight for control and power he had no desire to possess. He did not owe anything to that sleazy Torquemada. The man was in it for his own gains and was used to using his drugs to get whatever he wanted. Not anymore, though. And, Alvarez did not owe anything to El Cartel because of his descent or heritage. El Norte was dead to him---it was going to remain that way. He saw a small piece of paper sticking out from under his pillow so he pulled at it.

**Room by the gym after dinner.**

The words stuck in his eyes as his anger bubbled over and threatened to explode. That familiar writing and the seemingly nonchalant attitude made it all the more worse. Alvarez ripped the small slip of paper in half and looked down at the quad to see if the man was looking at him. There was no sign of those lying green eyes---no visible sign anyway. But, he knew O’Reily was watching---the man had eyes everywhere in the prison. Alvarez had conflicting emotions about what he should do---if he should go to the secret meeting or not.

The Latino sat on his bed and thought about what his next move was going to be. Pancamo was obviously desperate while they had been in the hole because Torquemada had left him with no options on how to carry on the D-tab business. He knew that the Italian wanted to keep as many people under his control as possible, but everything was falling apart on him. Alvarez only knew one thing for sure---he was going to sever his connection with Torquemada when he got back. It was enough.

He knew what he wanted to do about O’Reily too, but some parts of him did not agree. The confrontation had to happen eventually because he knew he wanted answers and was going to get them. It was going to be nothing but the truth coming from the lying viper. There was going to be no more games or plans he has no idea about. Alvarez was about to lie back on his bed when he heard a knock on glass. He looked back and nodded for the man to enter his privacy.

“I see you’ve made your way back to the world of the living,” El Cartel said.

“Well, you know, I couldn’t stay dead forever. Had to come back eventually. What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk---since our last one didn’t go so well.”

“You and me don’t have anything to talk about,” Alvarez shortly said.

“Now, see---that’s where you’re wrong. I know you’re aware of some of the changes that I’ve made happen since you went away.”

“No---not really.”

“Don’t toy with me, Miguel. I want you back in El Norte---where you belong,” Calderón continued with his pitch to recruit the rogue Latino.

“I don’t belong anywhere---least of all there. You already have my answer.”

“I thought your little vacation in the hole would have wised you up.”

“It did. That’s why I know I’m not going back,” Alvarez said and knew he was walking on thin ice. “Keeping clear of all you fucks.”

“I’m not happy by this. You have to know there is war coming to Oz. Battle lines have been drawn. And you still refuse to join your kind but rather take a stand on the opposing side.”

“Don’t include me in your war---I don’t give a fuck! Those shitheads are no more my kind than you. You see, you and me, we got the same skin, hermano, but nothing else. Have your war---just leave me the fuck out of it.”

“Why did you turn your back on El Norte?” the warlord asked.

“Assholes like you. With all the fucking games in here, I’m on no side but my own.”

“You heard what happened to Urbano?”

“Just that he got killed,” Alvarez said and was uninterested. “Your doing?”

“No. I heard his heart was ripped out of his chest.”

“So---some kind of meaning behind that?”

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t kill him,” he assuredly said.

“You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself---not me.”

“If you think I’m capable of such violence, would it really make sense to deny my offer then?” Calderón replied with those malevolent eyes.

“You may have all these new wannabe thugs in here running scared of you, but I ain’t one of them. I can handle myself without El Norte. I’ve been doing it since I got here.”

“So, you’re making an enemy out of me?”

“Not an enemy. I got nothing against you, El Cartel,” Alvarez said and looked at the other man directly. “I don’t, you know. But, I ain’t in the business of being told what to do anymore. And I’m never going back to El Norte.”

“This is a mistake you’re making,” he coldly said.

“No. The mistake is you starting this war. By the end of it, the hacks and the warden will win. That’s how it always ends up.”

“Not this time I’m afraid. And your friend Torquemada won’t win either.”

“He ain’t my friend.”

The sucked air of the door being opened got their attention and Murphy poked his head in the pod and said, “Alvarez, McManus wants a word---now. Let’s go, Calderón---back downstairs.”

Calderón gave Alvarez a menacing look and only began moving after Officer Murphy told him to again. The tension he had towards Alvarez was growing and could become a problem down the line. El Cartel was willing to give him a chance as the second commander in charge of El Norte, but he knew that it would have only bubbled down to the same thing as it had been with Hernandez and Morales. They all had one thing in common---they all wanted complete control over the loco Latino. Something he knew he was never going to give to anyone.

He left his pod and walked over to the unit manager’s office. He expected this. There were going to be more demands placed upon him in exchange for his early liberation from the hole. Upon entering the already opened door, Alvarez was beckoned to take a seat while McManus was talking on the phone. The man’s desk was messy with papers and files strewn about all over. El Cartel’s words were inside his head and he did not realize that he was being spoken to.

“Miguel---hello, Miguel?” McManus tried to get his attention as he looked at him.

“Huh? Oh---you said something?”

“What’s wrong? You all right?”

“Nothing,” he said. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah. I saw you talking to Pancamo in the classroom earlier---and Ramíro Calderón was in your pod as well. I want to know what’s going on with you, Miguel.”

“Nothing’s going on, McManus.”

“So why the need to talk to those two?”

“Hey, they came to me. It’s not what you think,” Alvarez said because he knew the look he was receiving.

“What is it then?”

“Look, I don’t give a fuck about any of them. I’m sick of all the shit going on in here. Trouble is always finding me though, you know? I try to stay away, but I keep getting dragged back into everything.”

“You can’t stop fighting,” the man said. “You can’t give up on yourself. Don’t worry about any other inmate in here---just focus on yourself and what you want to do. You can ignore trouble, Miguel.”

“Not in here---not in Oz.”

“You do remember our conversation in the hole yesterday, right---our agreement?”

“I didn’t forget.”

“Good. Don’t make me regret taking you out early,” the unit manager said with a slightly caring tone. “If you get caught with drugs again---even if you’re not using, I can’t help you.”

“I won’t. I don’t sling anything and I’ve stopped using.”

“Don’t turn to drugs, Miguel,” McManus said as he came around his desk and sat on the front of it. “Don’t let it mess up the life you were living before---when you wanted to get paroled. All the good things you were doing and the trouble you kept yourself out of.”

Hearing the words hurt---especially one in particular. He turned his head away and remained silent as the thought of parole unmercifully taunted and mocked him. Ruiz’s tone and spite-filled words from their last meeting were ringing in his ears now that McManus brought it up again. All over again, everything shot up to the surface of his skin and Alvarez could not control his thoughts. Ruiz was inside his head in many ways. A D-tab would have been so easy and necessary right now.

“I’m not getting paroled.”

“You didn’t this time---but there’s the next hearing in the next few years,” McManus offered positively. “Don’t lose sight of that goal. If you keep your focus, then three years will be up and you’ll have another meeting.”

“No. There won’t be any more. Ruiz already made sure of that,” the Latino bitterly said. “He already made sure of that.”

“How did he do that? Is it because you attacked him? I know it was bad, but he’ll look past it the next time. He just caught you at a bad moment.”

“There won’t be no fucking next time!” he snapped and said. “You’re not fucking listening!”

“Okay---then tell me what it is. Is there something personal going on between you two, Miguel?” McManus calmly spoke.

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Talk to me, Miguel. How can I help if you won’t talk to me?”

“What can you do, McManus?” Alvarez looked at the man sitting across from him and said. “Ruiz has a grudge against me. This shit’s got nothing to do with me attacking him.”

“Why do you say that? How do you know?”

“That’s what he said at the last meeting. He told me. I wanted to hurt him so bad, but I---I controlled it, you know?”

“Wait a minute. You’re saying Luís Ruiz told you that he has some kind of personal vendetta against you?” the unit manager asked because it was important to know.

“We grew up in the same neighborhood. Motherfucker said I gave all Latinos a bad name---even the ones that do good with their lives, like him. So, my punishment from him is to stay in Oz until I die in here.”

“Are you sure he said all these things to you, Miguel?”

“I don’t forget shit like that. Why?”

“That’s negligent and unjust. If this is true, then Ruiz has let personal feelings cloud his judgment and his job. He used his authority unfairly.”

“So?” Alvarez said and did not want to talk about it anymore. “He made it clear that the only way I was getting out was through him. As long as he’s in charge, I’m not going anywhere.”

The Latino left the office behind in a foul mood because of all the stuff McManus made him think about again. When Ruiz had told him that he could forget ever making parole, he had spiraled out of control and Torquemada was right there to take full advantage of it---him. Alvarez had felt like there was nowhere else to turn to and the queen had preyed on that and had moved in on him. He crunched his fists angrily at the thought of being so emotionally weak and susceptible.

But, he had taken a devastating blow at the hands of Ruiz and his mind had been scattered for days after the meeting. Having Destiny inside his system also had not helped with his emotional recovery. He was so tired of all the games---all the lies and all the people he had allowed to take advantage of him. Torquemada was bad, but Ryan O’Reily was far worse. Maybe it was a mistake all along to get involved with the king mind-fucker himself. Alvarez went back to his pod and sprinkled some water on his face in an attempt to clear his head.

Throughout the remainder of the day, he had noticed Calderón and the newly reformed El Norte talking---probably plotting on what their next move was going to be. He had seen them together during lunch and also when they had been in the gym in the afternoon for rec time. O’Reily had not been there because he was at work in the hospital. They had made plans to work in the hospital together. Alvarez was supposed to ask McManus for the transfer. He was not sure what to do about any of that anymore.

He waited in line in the cafeteria during dinner to collect a tray of food to eat. Pancamo was giving him a hard look but he ignored it because there was nothing more to be said between them. Torquemada was going to deal with the Italian muscle-head when his days in the hole were over. Alvarez grabbed an apple, exited the line, and found a practically empty table in the corner. He sat on the edge and tried to force food to stay in his system.

Not eating anything for days at a time in the hole had really messed with his body’s natural balance. Everything was slowly coming back to him though, and he felt no more withdrawals from D-tabs. The urges still sometimes popped up at times though, but the Latino had no choice but to suppress it because Oz was completely dry of Destiny. He and O’Reily did not bother making eye contact with one another across the large and noisy room. Their time to be together was coming very soon.

“You’re Alvarez right?” Vieyra asked after he walked up to the table.

“Who wants to know?”

“I’m Gio. Can I sit here?”

“Knock yourself out, kid,” the loco Latino said.

“I’m not a kid.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You don’t look no more than twenty,” Alvarez said as he looked up at him.

“Still---I’m not a kid anymore. This place has made sure of that,” he said as he looked around and then drank some juice.

“You got a reason for asking for me?”

“Are you a part of Calderón’s group---El Norte?”

“You don’t know anything about gang life, do you---anything about El Norte?” Alvarez asked and took an interest in the conversation. “Where’d you grow up?”

“Upstate. No, I’ve never been in a gang or heard about El Norte until now. I---I got caught driving a car I didn’t know one of my friends had stolen and didn’t know they had robbed a store and had the stolen electronics in the trunk so they stuck me with accomplice to robbery. I got thrown in here.”

“Damn. Wrong place and wrong time twice in the same day. For how long?”

“I have a parole hearing in three years. Original sentence is five,” Vieyra said before he took a bite of chicken.

“If you want to make that parole date, stay the fuck away from Calderón and his boys. He’ll make sure you never get out.”

“He wants me to join. Says I owe it to my Latino blood to be a part of El Norte. He’s come after me a couple times already.”

“Don’t listen to his bullshit. I guarantee that if you join him, you won’t make it out of Oz,” Alvarez sternly warned him. “Stay out of the way and keep your head down until you get out.”

“I must be an easy target. I don’t have much street sense. I’m from an upper class family. I don’t know why he’d want me. Guess I stick out, huh? Wow---I don’t know why I just said all that,” he said and felt embarrassed.

Alvarez looked at the young kid and felt sorry for him. It seemed like he had only made one mistake, or had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and had ended up in Oz. It was clear just by looking at him that he had never seen a day on the streets or been through half the bad shit other fucks in here had gone through. Vieyra looked like a good kid that had just made a stupid decision. That inexperience made him a prime target for anything and everything inside these walls. The Latino felt a strange kind of kinship towards him.

“You stick out like a sore thumb,” Alvarez agreed. “He’s gathering up men to strengthen El Norte. No Latinos are off limits to him.”

“I guess you’re not with him---from the way you’re talking.”

“Did all that already. Not going back there again.”

“But---but he said you have to be part of a group if you want to survive,” Vieyra said. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Don’t let him rattle you. If you let him get inside your head, you’re fucked.”

“He’s dangerous---isn’t he?” he asked in a low voice.

“He didn’t come to Oz for stealing cookies from a jar.”

“Shit. I’m screwed.”

“No---don’t worry about him. I’ll look out for you, kid,” Alvarez said to calm him down.

“What, uh---what do I have to do in return?” the young man uncomfortably asked.

“Nothing. Stay low and keep to yourself to get out.”

They continued to eat in almost silence after that. Alvarez did not know what came over him but he wanted to see the kid make it out safe. Knowing Calderón and his agenda though, it was going to be tough. He felt protective of Vieyra for some reason. Maybe it was because he really was inexperienced in the ways of life on the streets---maybe it was his slightly naïve demeanor. Either way, Alvarez was going to make a conscious effort to pay attention to the young inmate and keep trouble from finding him.

Maybe if there had been some positive influence in his life when he was younger, he would have never would have the inside of a prison. It was a long stretch to think about his life in that way and Alvarez could not regret the decisions he made in the past or the life he was living now. Vieyra looked at him but then quickly away before their eyes could meet. He was an innocent kid caught up in one of his mistakes. He did not deserve to lose his life in Oz for that---and El Cartel was the type who did not take rejection easily.

The Latino gave the hacks the slip right as the inmates crowded the doors to leave the cafeteria because dinner was over. He rushed to where he had to be and felt the sharpness twinge against his stomach. Vieyra was the furthest thing from his mind now because he had to concentrate on one of the most dangerous men contained inside the walls of the prison. Alvarez easily slipped his way by as he made it down the deserted hallway leading to the gym. It was already closed off for the night, but that was not his focus.

Once inside, he stood against the wall directly opposite from the door and waited for it all to begin. His eyes were so concentrated that he felt like they were going to drive holes through the door. Now was not the time to let his mind slip on anything else. It had to remain entirely focused on the Irishman. Alvarez heard a small rustling sound and his body immediately clicked on and was ready to go. O’Reily entered the room and closed the door behind him. Everything about him still looked the same---he looked the same, but he was not.

“Alvarez, oh man---am I glad you’re out of the hole,” he said and moved closer and closer for a kiss.

Alvarez stayed still in his position and kept his eyes open as the víbora moved in and pressed their bodies together---crushed their lips together. At the moment, it felt so right and so needed---by both of them. He quickly discarded that useless emotion and plucked O’Reily’s wrists together with both his hands. The Latino immediately pulled his body away and maneuvered himself around the other man so that he was now the one against the wall. He slammed the Irishman’s back hard into the wall and pinned both his wrists above his head with one hand while the other retrieved a sharp shank. It swiftly sunk deep into his throat and those fiery brown eyes were emblazoned upon him.

There was a look of panic in his eyes as the sharp blade threatened to end his life. A small squeak had exited his lips when he had been thrown against the wall because of the pain. Now was not the time to be gentle or caring or anything else that had once been good between them. Alvarez’s eyes looked like they were engulfed inside an exploding volcano. The built up anger scared him, but O’Reily did not look away. He could not lose like that---especially since he was caught and had no moves up his sleeve. He was defenseless.

The Irishman wanted to say something but his brain forbade him to. He continued to hold the stare between them as he whimpered inside at the pain of his bruised back and bounded wrists. As much as he tried to move them to free himself, the chafing of his skin coupled with Alvarez’s hard vice grip became extremely painful. O’Reily felt his heart banging against the bones of his ribcage as he tried to calm his nerves and regain control of the situation. The Latino had come to be among the very few people that could truly make him feel uncomfortable and anxious.

“You betrayed me, you green motherfucker,” a low and deadly voice said. “I’m tempted to do it. Fucking push me there. Push me to do it!”

“Let me explain. Please---”

“It’ll give me more reasons to slit your throat. I’m out for your blood.”

“Alvarez, let my hands go,” O’Reily said with a hint of power. “Put that thing away so we can talk.”

“Why, víbora? You scared of me?” Alvarez moved so close to him and said. “You can’t be scared of me. I’m the fucking fool who believed you. No---you can’t be fucking scared of me!”

“No---it’s not like that. I did the right thing for you.”

“You did the right thing for me? You thinking for me now---because I’m too fucking stupid to think for myself, right? Right!” he demanded an answer.

“Miguel, let me go. You’re---you’re hurting my wrists,” the Irishman said and was forced to because his pinned skin was starting to burn.

“No! Tell me what I want to know. Tell me the truth, you lying bastard.”

“Fucking kill me then!” O’Reily yelled out and said even though he was struggling to keep himself calm. “Do it---or let me go.”

There was an intense stare between them as he continued to feel the blade pricking against the sensitive skin of his neck. There was no movement from either of them and Alvarez continued to stare at him---as if he was looking through him. It had never been this out of control between them before and O’Reily began to worry about his own safety. The enraged Latino could easily end his life right now---the distant look in his eyes said as much. They seemed unattached to reality.

O’Reily continued to believe that he had done the right thing, even though he was still pinned against the wall with no way of escaping. Again, the issue of trust had come up in their partnership and Alvarez wanted to know why. He had to fight against his instincts and remain calm, but the pressure on his hands and back were starting to become too much. After continued moments of tenseness, the Irishman felt the tight grip on his wrists loosen up, saw Alvarez violently throw the shank on the ground, and turn away from him.

He slid down to the ground while rubbing his red wrists, then looked up, and lowly said, “I didn’t---I didn’t betray you. I was looking out for you.”

“You fucking sent me to the hole without telling me,” Alvarez said without turning back and had his hands on his head. “You planned and plotted it all behind my back.”

“I had to---I couldn’t tell you. I knew you would’ve stopped me if I did.”

“You like that you can read me like that?”

“It had nothing to do with reading you, loco. I know how you get in small places---and when you’re alone.”

“And yet you still set me up to go there---knowing all that shit I told you. Tell me why.”

O’Reily got up, stayed by the wall, and said, “I had to. I didn’t have any options left.”

“Why? Why?” he was getting impatient but still did not bother to look back. “You always have options---it’s what your fucking known for!”

“I saw you---I saw you slipping away. I saw you slipping further into his grip. I had to stop that.”

The words rung inside his head and suddenly more pieces of the one-sided plan clicked together in his mind. It all revolved around his feelings of jealously and hatred towards Torquemada. Alvarez felt a wicked smile crawl across his lips but he covered it up when he turned around to face the other man. It was his turn to see how it felt like. It was his turn to have his fate toyed with for pure amusement or some other convoluted reasons no one could ever trace back to him.

The Irishman, realizing what he had just said, tried to cover his tracks with, “I, uh---I had to get you away from Destiny. The plan was to get you sober again.”

“That’s fucking bullshit and you know it!” the Latino said as he walked closer and with new purpose.

“You were hooked on Destiny. I don’t want an addict for a partner.”

“It’s never been about that,” he said as their bodies were almost touching now.

“Back off, Alvarez,” O’Reily defensively said. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You get jealous when you see him touching me, don’t you? You don’t like it when you see his fingers on me---his hands on me. I see it behind your eyes. Don’t fucking deny it now.”

“Fuck you!”

“You’re jealous that we share the same pod. You wonder what goes on there at night, don’t you?” he continued with his slow torture. “I’ve seen you looking before. You wonder what he whispers to me---if we’ve kissed. If I’ve let him---”

“Stop talking, Alvarez! Stop fucking talking right now or I’ll make you regret it,” O’Reily became increasingly angrier and warned him.

“You want to know where his hands have been. It’s just two guys getting their rocks off, right? It doesn’t mean anything, you know? Maybe that’s right---or maybe it’s not.”

“I’m warning you. Stop fucking talking!”

“No! You fuck with my head all the time. It’s time you know what it feels like. What it feels like when he touches my skin. His fingers usually play with my lips when he slips D-tabs into my mouth. He likes touching my skin while he watches me jerk off. He likes touching me everywhere he can. Every piece of me.”

“Shut the fuck up!” O’Reily snapped.

The rage building inside took over and he rolled up his fist and punched Alvarez right on the mouth because he could not take any more of those kinds of words. It was disgusting and horrible and he was jealous of that cocksucking queen always throwing himself at the Latino and at them being in the same pod together. O’Reily took a deep breath because he wanted to regain himself. He did not want to do it and had no idea where the punch came from. It just happened all so fast that he did not have the time to properly process and react to it.

Alvarez took the hit because a part of him had already expected it for some time. The faint taste of iron littered his mouth and he knew he tasted his own blood. He stayed calm because they were not going to get into a physical fight here---he was not going to retaliate in that way. He had to hit O’Reily where it did the most damage---where it would hurt the most. Alvarez knew he had the man read and mind-fucked because of what just happened between them. A twisted pleasure found its way inside him and sinfully stroked his ego.

“Looks like I hit a nerve there,” the Latino said as he rubbed his lower lip and smiled. “Who’s the one getting mind-fucked now?”

“So you made me mad. Happens all the time,” O’Reily tried to maintain his cool by saying.

“It felt good, baby. It feel good for you, too?”

“You’re letting Torquemada ruin you, Miguel. Why can’t you see that?”

“And you care---is that it? You’re no different than him,” he said and laughed at the irony.

“Hey---don’t fucking compare me and him. We’re nothing alike!”

“You both want to control me---want to move me whatever way you want. That sounds like the same goddamn thing to me.”

“I never wanted to control you. That wasn’t what the partnership was about,” the Irishman said and knew they were getting in deeper than he wanted to be.

“Tell me the truth, Ryan. Tell me the whole truth. Why you did that to me?”

“I did it---did it for you.”

“No---none of that bullshit!” Alvarez snapped and cornered O’Reily against the wall again by pressing both his hands on the wall on either side of the other man’s head. “You know what I’m talking about---what I mean.”

“I already told you why I did it. To get you sober.”

“Can’t you just say it---say the words I know are fucking there?”

“Say what words? What the hell do you want me to say?” he practically repeated because he did not want to go there.

“Never mind,” the Latino said and retracted both his arms to walk away. “Forget it. I can’t trust you anymore. We can’t be partners.”

“No, loco---no. We can’t stop being partners---especially now.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Do what you want. I’m gone.”

O’Reily felt himself cornered in every possible way. They were wasting time not talking about Calderón or plotting to keep Torquemada and Destiny from expanding more. The way the conversation turned was obviously important to Alvarez and, as much as he tried to deny it, it was important to him, too. Whatever was between them was more than a partnership and he was genuinely hurt by the Irishman’s actions. The trust was broken. Alvarez opened the door and was ready to leave but stopped when he felt a gentle tug on his hand.

“Hey, wait---don’t go, Miguel. Don’t be mad. Stay---and talk to me. Come on---”

“Got nothing to say,” Alvarez easily dismissed.

“I hate him. I hate how he hangs all over you and is always trying to touch you.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“I am jealous of him, loco. I don’t want him touching you---or be anywhere near you for that fucking matter,” O’Reily allowed the acidic words to roll off his tongue and pass through his lips.

“Your jealously isn’t my problem.”

“No---I know. I didn’t say it was. I put the D-tabs in your pocket and paid off two inmates to start that fight in Em City so that I could get close enough to plant them in his pocket too without him knowing. I had to get him away from you, and get you sober so you could be on my side again. That why I didn’t tell you anything. I knew you wouldn’t want to do it.”

“I never left the partnership. All that shit is in your head,” the Latino said.

“You using D-tabs made me think different. He was controlling you with it. I couldn’t stand it.”

“He never had any control over me! Don’t ever say that shit again!”

“But he did. You know it’s true. That why I had to get him out of the way too. I wanted to come up with a plan to bring him down. D-tabs can’t be spread around Oz like he wants them to be,” O’Reily said the last bit of truth left in him. “If that happens, we all lose. He’ll be untouchable. Help me, Miguel. Together, we can take him down. Don’t turn your back on the partnership---on me.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to jc71883@hotmail.com , making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**Miguel Alvarez sat in the** quad, deep in thought about the conversation he had with the conniving Irishman yesterday. He had finally admitted his jealously of Torquemada, and that had to have not been easy to do for him. O’Reily was never been one to talk about his emotions---neither of them were, but what was happening beyond the partnership was slowly changing all that. Neither of them knew if it was for the better or the worse though. Alvarez still felt betrayed, but some part of him understood the underhanded and completely secretive plan. It was how O’Reily showed that he cared.

Sending him to the hole was such a drastic step, though. He could have easily given up D-tabs if they had talked about it and plotted against Torquemada together. O’Reily never gave him that chance to rise to the occasion. Deep down, that was what upset him the most. Alvarez knew he would have been able to handle the hole much better if he had known he was going to be putting himself there. If he had known that there was a purpose behind it. He did not want the awkwardness between them.

Regardless, O’Reily was right about Torquemada and the danger his D-tabs posed to the entire prison. If he got every inmate and hack hooked on the stuff as his plan foretold, he would become supreme inside Oz. He would become too powerful to touch. With the fags, bikers, and most of the niggers still under his control, the Latinos were now the only major gang, aside from the neutral Muslims, that was not on his side. The queen still posed a dangerous threat to them all.

Calderón was making sure that El Norte would be able to fight and defend itself against any attack. Earlier in the morning, three more Latinos were introduced into Em City. It came as no surprise that they had immediately sought out the man responsible for bringing them there. Alvarez did not know any of them, but his instincts were already on edge. In the span of a couple short weeks, El Cartel had regained and revitalized the entire El Norte in his image. He was knocked out of his head when he saw McManus walking by.

“Hey, McManus, you got a minute?”

“Walk and talk, Alvarez,” the unit manager said as he continued to walk.

The Latino sprung up and followed as he said, “I got something to ask.”

“What is it?”

“I want my job back at the hospital.”

McManus stopped and said, “What? Why?”

“I think it’ll help me get over the addiction if I’m helping people,” Alvarez lied about his reasoning. “I liked that job.”

“You were good at it. Dr. Nathan said as much back when you were there.”

“It’s like the best job to have. Can you make it happen for me?”

“I’ll put in the paperwork and see what happens. You’ll know when I know.”

“Thanks, McManus. I appreciate it,” he said.

“If you feel this is a positive step for you, then I’m all for it. Don’t go back to your old ways, Miguel,” McManus told him.

“I don’t plan to.”

“All right---I’ll see what I can do,” he said and started to walk away but then turned around again. “Hey, you know that Ryan O’Reily is working in the hospital wing, right? That won’t be a problem for you, will it?”

“No,” the Latino said and hid his smile. “Not at all. I got nothing against him.”

The unit manager walked away after the conversation and Alvarez was left almost confident that he was going to get the job. McManus obviously had not given up on him, despite everything that had happened, and he was going to use that to his own advantages. He had to get past what O’Reily did and move forward because El Cartel was definitely getting himself ready for something big. His alliance with the Irishman was without a doubt the strongest inside Oz.

He went back to the table and sat as he strangely thought of Torquemada. He wondered what was going to happen once he was released from the hole. They were still going to be forced close together because they were both in the same pod. O’Reily could not get upset or jealous about that because that just was the way it was. When he had admitted his envy of the queen, Alvarez had felt good somewhere inside him. And, he was sure that if the situation were reversed, he would have felt the same trace of jealously.

“Hey, Alvarez,” the young Latino Vieyra said after he came over to the table.

“Call me Miguel. Sit, kid.”

“Only if you stop calling me kid. It’s Gio.”

“Whatever you want,” Alvarez replied and was starting to feel that the kid was becoming like a little brother to him.

“Did you see the new guys coming in this morning?”

“Yeah---and they all went right to him. I hear he has a few more coming too.”

“Really?” he said. “Why is McManus allowing so many Latinos in here?”

“They have to go somewhere. Wherever they ended up, he would still have control over them, so that doesn’t matter,” Alvarez said. “It’s why he brought them here in the first place.”

“I guess he really means business. So---that means he won’t give up coming after me,” Vieyra said.

“I told you not to worry. I’ll handle him.”

“Why are you doing this for me? Why are you helping me?”

“Just want to see you get out of here alive. Got no ulterior motives or anything like that. I’ve seen enough death because of the lies and plotting in here. You’re not going to end up like that,” the Latino assured him.

“Well if it isn’t the two lone Latinos who want nothing to do with El Norte---their heritage,” Calderón approached the table and said. “What’s the plan, boys---since you both denied my offer?”

Alvarez looked up and saw that the man was by himself. What actually looked like a grin was hanging from his lips. Vieyra immediately tensed up at his presence but he was trying to fight it. The kid really did not belong in this world of violence and rampant drug use. His sheltered lifestyle had to have been shocked from its very foundation once he had come to Oz and realized just how dangerous the world could be. El Cartel looked to take full advantage of the young kid’s inexperience, if the look in his eyes were any indication.

“I’m not sure when joining a gang became part of someone’s heritage,” Alvarez said and laughed.

“It is in here,” El Cartel said. “You better than anyone should know this, Alvarez.”

“What I know for sure is that getting involved with El Norte is a bunch of bullshit---and a waste of time.”

“But, why prevent a promising young man from joining the ranks because you had a bad experience?” Calderón tried at his pitch again.

“I’m not preventing him from doing anything. He sees through all the crap---just like me. I’m not one of those guys who get off on telling people what they can and can’t do,” the loco Latino said.

“Was that supposed to be a hit on me?”

“If you took it that way then what can I say? Guilty consciences speak I guess.”

“You like being a rebel don’t you, Miguel?” El Cartel shot the question and a hard look at him. “From what I hear, it’s a pattern with you. Some of the veteran gang members tell me you’ve clashed with every leader of El Norte since you’ve been incarcerated.”

“Don’t think I am a rebel at all,” he matter-of-factly said. “Those fucks tried to control me---and I’m not big on being controlled. I know what you’re about. I’m not going to be one of you witless minions. I’ve kept myself alive all this time without dick from El Norte.”

“You have kept yourself alive---for now,” the malevolent man ominously said and walked away.

“He really doesn’t like taking no for an answer, does he?” Vieyra said as he still watched the man. “He looks like he really wants you in the gang.”

“Well he’s going to have to take that no because it ain’t happening.”

Calderón was relentless in his pursuit because he wanted to strengthen El Norte for whatever was to come. Alvarez was not going to be involved in another war inside Oz---the last one had ended with many wounded and a lot of bodies on the floor. Vieyra was intimidated throughout most of the conversation but it was good that he did not say anything to El Cartel. The silent treatment was his best option to deal with the drug lord.

The Latino returned to his pod because he wanted to be by himself as he waited for lunch. O’Reily had earphones covering his ears as he was sitting in the TV area watching something. He was positive that the Irishman had noticed Calderón and the conversation that had taken place over the table. They had to talk about him and decide what actions to take against the man. Alvarez caught himself staring through the glass walls of his pod and down to the TV area at his partner.

He wanted it to go back to the way it was before he had been set up and sent to the hole. Neither of them could afford to be divided at this critical point and time---and especially when Torquemada made his grand return and flooded Oz with Destiny again. Alvarez was sick of the shit and only wanted to move past it. Spending the time in the hole had managed to break his habit of D-tabs. And, as much as he tried to deny it, O’Reily was right when he had said that Torquemada had used his drugs to control him in a way. 

Alvarez was disgusted at himself because he did not want to give anyone that power over him, yet he had come so close to giving in completely to the predatory queen. Since he first stepped inside these walls, someone had tried to control him. By a far margin, Torquemada had come the closest to succeeding---dangerously too close. It was not going to happen again. He knew he did not need Sister Pete’s drug counseling sessions, but was going to go to a few of them just to keep McManus out of his way and on his side.

He got up and threw away a mostly untouched tray of food at lunch. His appetite still had not fully returned from his body’s withdrawal from Destiny. It was slowly coming back, but he was craving a cherry blow pop more than any solid form of sustenance. He felt awkward asking O’Reily to secure him one, and it was also harder for the Irishman to do so since he no longer worked in the kitchen. Alvarez walked back to where he was sitting to wait for the gate to be opened but he was stopped when he passed by El Cartel’s table.

“Miguel, sit with me,” the El Norte leader almost said as a demand.

“I’ll pass,” he easily replied.

“Okay. I’ll sit with you,” Calderón said as he got up and left his men behind to follow the rogue Latino to the other table. “You off babysitting duty?”

Alvarez sat down and asked in a slightly irritated way, “What do you want?”

“To understand you. I don’t usually respond well to the word ‘no’.”

“That sounds like a personal problem that has nothing to do with me.”

“You and I could be great in here. We could make things happen. Your skills and influence would prove to be invaluable assets to me. I also hear you’re to the point with a shank in your hands. I like that.”

“For the hundredth time---not interested in joining you or El Norte. Let that sink into that thick skull of yours,” he said and felt as if he had done so repeatedly by now.

“Tell me what happened to Chico Guerra,” El Cartel completely changed the pace of the conversation and said.

“He’s dead. What of it? There’s nothing to tell.”

“He died from an overdose of Destiny, didn’t he? Yet, you still defend its creator. You still defend the man who brought it into Oz.”

“I don’t defend anyone. What the fuck are you trying to do?” Alvarez asked in an angry tone. “Why are you bringing all this shit up?”

“Trying to understand you, hermano. Trying to find out why you keep turning your back on us.”

The Latino stood up and said, “I ain’t your fucking hermano, Calderón. You got that. I ain’t never going to be anything like you, motherfucker. Leave me alone.”

He left the table and walked across the cafeteria to the gate to wait out the rest of lunchtime. He had to restrain himself from punching the fucking arrogant asshole right on the mouth for bringing up Guerra the way he did. Alvarez was temporarily blindsided by the mention of his once enemy and friend, but had quickly recovered because he did not want El Cartel to have that satisfaction. The man was an incessant pest that was not going away.

Later in the afternoon, McManus still had not gotten back to him about his request to work in the infirmary, but he had a visitor. He left Em City and walked over to the visitor’s room as he wondered why his mother had come to see him. It was indeed a rare occurrence because Carmen Alvarez did not like to see her son this way. The Latino walked into the room and they hugged as soon as he got to the table where she was waiting for him. She smelled like the same perfume he remembered from when he was a kid.

“Hey, ma,” he greeted her while they were still embraced. “What brings you down here?”

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing, baby boy.”

“Come on---sit,” Alvarez said and they broke apart and did so. “What’s up?”

“It’s so good to see you, my Miguelito.”

“Uh-oh---what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Can’t a mother just be happy to see her child?” Carmen shrugged off his suspicion and said.

“Sure, ma. And I’m the king of fucking England.”

“I came a couple of weeks ago but they told me you were in the hole. What happened?”

“Nothing. It was stupid. Two visits so close to each other, huh? Now I know something’s up. Talk to me, ma,” Alvarez seriously said as he looked at her.

“It’s Maritza, Miguel. It’s Maritza.”

“Maritza? What about her? What about Maritza?”

His mother sighed and then said, “She’s---she’s getting married.”

“Oh, shit! What?” the Latino asked and could not believe it.

“Her mother told me a couple weeks ago when I saw her in the supermarket. She says Maritza is happy.”

“Who’s the guy? Is it---”

“Yes---it’s Reynaldo. I see them together all the time around the neighborhood.”

“Goddammit! They’re fucking getting married?” he repeated the words so that maybe he could believe them.

The words had to be slowly processed inside his head because they did not sound real or genuine in any way. Although they had not spoken in so long, a part of him still held out hope that they would be able to reunite if he had ever found a way to get himself out of Oz. Alvarez felt a piece of depression and a giant hand of envy grasp his insides as he attempted to digest the news. Reynaldo was about to do what he was unable to due to his incarceration. Maritza really was never coming back.

“Don’t let it bother you, son,” she tried to say in a calming way. “We all have to move on with our lives sooner or later.”

“I guess that answers the one important question I had about her for the longest time.”

“Which was?”

“If she ever thinks about our son,” Alvarez somberly said.

“Is that really a fair conclusion to make, Miguelito? You don’t know for sure if she does or doesn’t think about him.”

“Don’t defend her,” he quickly snapped. “She started fucking my best friend behind my back and now she’s marrying the backstabbing cocksucker. When did she have time to think about her son---our son? Tell me that, ma.”

“I don’t know. I’m not defending her. Calm down, okay?”

“I fucking think about him at least a million different times every single day. I think about what I could’ve done different or better to keep him here---what it would be like if he was still alive. All that bitch was ever concerned about was getting fucked and forgetting about her dead kid! My son.”

“Miguel---relax. No one can change the past,” Carmen said and held one of his hands in hers. “She is doing what is right for her, son. You can’t blame her for that.”

“Yes I can---and I do. She didn’t even have the guts to come and tell me it’s over herself. I asked that fucking prick to come and he told me they were fucking. Stupid bitch!”

“Stop it. Don’t blame the girl for trying to find some happiness in her life after she lost you and your baby.”

“I’m not fucking lost, ma!” Alvarez furiously replied.

“You’re in fucking Oz, Miguel! You are fucking lost to her.”

“Fuck this shit! I’m done,” he said and got up.

“Miguel---Miguel sit down and talk to me,” his mother tried to convince him to stay. “I don’t want you to be upset.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you.”

The loco Latino stormed out of the visiting room and left his mother still standing there and asking him to come back. It was enough for him though and he did not want to talk about that stupid bitch he had once loved or his traitorous friend anymore. He walked back to Em City and felt like he wanted to punch a wall or leave a hole in something to vent his frustration and anger. Alvarez did not want to give the hacks or the warden any reason to put him back in the hole or Solitary though, so he cooled his bubbling blood.

Back in his pod, he rested on his bed and felt sick inside. The hope he had of them getting back together was a long shot---he had known that, but it had still offered him some hope at times. Maritza had to be erased from his mind now. The only thing he was determined to turn to for hope now were the few memory of his son he had before he was taken away. Alvarez had to quickly get over this and move on because he was not going to give anyone ammunition on him---especially the likes of El Cartel.

Plus, he had to keep his eyes on the young kid Vieyra. Calderón made it evident that he was going to remain on the prowl until both of them joined him in El Norte. Alvarez only knew a few major reasons why, but he stunned himself at how protective he was and much he cared about the young Latino. He really was coming to see Vieyra as a younger brother he had to look out for. Maybe he had taken a cue from O’Reily in the way he was always determined to look out for Cyril. Alvarez only knew that he wanted the kid to get safely out of Oz and have his life back.

 

**The interview room** was quiet as he was led in by a hack to wait for the attorney. He had not been to Solitary to see his father much and was regretting it as he sat and waited there. Since Querns took the reins and slashed the arts program, he had not seen much of his mother either. They would have visits, but it was not the same as when she had been there every day and with him---with him and Cyril. O’Reily sulked because it felt like his family was being torn apart in different directions.

Ever since Cyril was gone, he felt like he was unable to keep the rest of his family together. His mom was no longer there because of Querns and his father was locked away in Solitary confinement. Plus, as of late, he had been consumed with Miguel Alvarez and trying to navigate through their partnership while trying to shut down Torquemada. It was all becoming too much and he was feeling overwhelmed and stressed out by everything. The door clicked opened and O’Reily looked up as his father’s lawyer finally arrived.

“Ryan, how are you?” Bryan Rockford rested his briefcase on the desk and greeted.

“You’re late, man. Why the meeting?” he got right to the point.

“Have you spoken to your father?”

“No. The hacks have been pretty strict lately,” O’Reily said a half-truth. “I haven’t had a chance.”

“Well, during closing arguments of the trial a few days ago, the judge stopped the proceedings and declared a mistrial,” the lawyer said and was busy perusing Seamus O’Reily’s file.

“A mistrial? What---why?”

“It turns out that one of the prosecutors involved in your father’s trial was caught taking bribes for some of the other cases he was working on. The judge suspended him and threw out all the cases he was involved in.”

“So, he took a bribe for my dad’s case too?”

“No,” Rockford said. “The investigation already cleared him of any wrongdoing in your father’s trial, but the judge still threw out the case.”

“Okay---what does this mean for my dad? Can he get off because of this?”

“No. Don’t misunderstand, Ryan. Your father still killed Jahfree Neema with premeditation and malice.”

“But you said the judge threw out the case,” the Irishman said.

“Yes---but the state is going to retry him again. The case being thrown out has nothing to do with your father. The state is still pushing for the death penalty. A new trial is scheduled to begin in a couple days. He’s still not out of the woods.”

“Great---just fucking great!”

“Go see him---talk to him,” Rockford said. “It’s all starting over again and he’s been really stressed out.”

“I can’t just go see him whenever I want. Querns is trying to eliminate every possible distraction for the inmates. The more time we spend in our cells, the better in his eyes.”

“This is just my opinion, but the man is no Leo Glynn.”

“Yeah well, your sentiment is shared by just about everyone in here,” O’Reily said.

He did not want to get his hopes up or see the dismissal of his father’s case as some kind of positive step but it was hard not to. They were so close to handing down the verdict and the judge threw out the case because of a greedy prosecutor. O’Reily left the interview room and headed back to Em City with a hack escorting him. This was now something else he had to deal with on top of everything else he had going on.

The Irishman wanted to talk to his mom---wanted her to come back and teach classes or do another play so he could be close to her again. He missed her soft touches on his hands and face---missed her laugh and motherly affection. Cyril’s memory provoked dangerous outbursts of loneliness and recklessness in him. Giving Miguel Alvarez full access to him was one of his gravest mistakes. O’Reily’s careless attitude and the numerous pills in his system had made his mind nonexistent and his body susceptible to the Latino’s warm one.

There had been many dreams at night about it---almost as if his brain was trying to connect the fragmented pieces together to fully remember everything that had happened during the encounter. He had to be cautious because Meaney was now his podmate. O’Reily no longer had the privacy he had become so used to and cherished so much. Most of the words between him and Alvarez in the small room that day continued to evade him. More than anything, he wanted to know if he had begged for it. He had to know.

He had to ask McManus for a favor, and was not sure what the man’s decision would be. The unit manager had not trusted him for as long as he had been in Em City---neither of them got along well with the other. O’Reily had not exactly given him any reason to be considered trustworthy, but this was a prison that housed some of the most dangerous and insane criminals around. He dashed up the stairs to the office but stopped at the tower because his target was standing there talking to Murphy. Both men stopped and looked at him when he came closer.

“You want something, O’Reily?” Murphy asked.

“McManus, I got to see my dad,” the Irishman replied.

“Why?” McManus said.

“I haven’t seen him much since the trial started. You can’t deny me that.”

“Oh, but I can. No, O’Reily,” he spat out.

“What the fuck, McManus? I’m just asking to talk to my dad,” O’Reily started to get angry but stopped himself from letting it consume him. “You can’t fucking deny me that!”

“Hey---calm yourself down, O’Reily,” Murphy told him in a strong voice. “We use our indoor voices in here---and especially when we’re asking for favors.”

“It’s not much of a favor. I just want to go see my dad. I can’t do that now? The prison’s taking away that shit too?”

Officer Murphy turned to his colleague and friend and said, “Come on, Tim. O’Reily hasn’t caused any trouble over the past few weeks. And Dr. Nathan did say he’s doing a good job in the infirmary. Let him go.”

“It’s not me, Sean. You know Querns wants to keep the inmates on a strict schedule,” McManus said as if he had suddenly become powerless.

“You know what---screw Querns. I’m telling you---these guys are going to go stir crazy if he cuts anything else. He keeps this up and we’ll have another riot on our hands,” Murphy said.

“All right. Now’s not the time to discuss this,” the unit manager calmly said and then faced O’Reily. “Okay---you can go down to Solitary for a quick visit. And I do mean quick, O’Reily.”

“You won’t even have time to miss me,” he said with that charm of his. “That’s how quick I’ll be gone and back.”

“I’m sure,” McManus sarcastically said. “Hey, Officer Robinson, can you take O’Reily down to Solitary to see his father.”

“Yeah, sure. Come on, O’Reily,” the officer told him and they left down the stairs shortly after.

“If Querns finds out about this, I’m blaming it on you, Sean,” McManus said and tapped his friend on his shoulder.

“When did you become such a stickler for the rules, Tim? It’s really cramping the little bit of style you do have.”

Querns was going too far with all his rules and set schedules the inmates were forced to follow. Without any type outlet to express themselves or put their energy towards, Oz was going to become a far more dangerous place than ever before. O’Reily waited in front of the heavy metal door as the hack Lopresti slowly opened his father’s cell to let him in. Seamus O’Reily had to be under intense pressure because he had to do it all over again and remain confined to Solitary.

“You got five minutes, O’Reily,” Robinson said when they were both inside the small cell. “Make the most of it.”

“Hey, dad,” the Irishman greeted when the door was closed behind him.

“Ryan---hey, son,” the old man said and they hugged.

“I know I haven’t been by much lately. Querns is making it harder for us to do anything more than eat, sleep, and shit.”

“That nigger’s a fucking moron.”

“Oz is becoming a ticking time bomb because of him.”

“He’ll see things differently when it explodes in his face,” Seamus O’Reily said and sat on his bed.

“Maybe. So I spoke to the lawyer earlier.”

“I got to go through all this shit again because of one fuckhead.”

“Before the judge threw out the case, did he say anything?” he tried to find out exactly where they were. “Do you think the lawyer managed to convince the jury not to give the death penalty? Think, dad. I need you to think.”

“The judge didn’t say anything to me. He called all of the lawyers up and they were talking there---nobody heard what they were saying. I’m---I’m not sure about the jury. The lawyer didn’t look happy when he came back from talking to the judge,” the elder O’Reily recounted.

“Shit. You have to tell him to try harder this time, dad. I mean it.”

“Don’t you think I fucking know that? I told him to do whatever it takes to get me out of here.”

“Fuck, dad! If you listened to me, none of this shit would be happening to you. You’re so goddamn stubborn!” the Irishman vented some of his frustrations.

“Now you know where my son Ryan gets it from.”

“You’re a fucking riot, you old bastard. Make sure you’re laughing when they’re strapping you into the electric chair. I’m out of here. Yo, Robinson!” he yelled out and banged against the metal door.

“That’s right---run away like you do every time you can’t control something. You never wanted to lose control of Cyril, so you made sure he got his head bashed in so that he would need you forever. You had all control over him---until he fucking died in this shithole. Something else you couldn’t control or save him from,” Seamus O’Reily viciously tried to get inside his son’s head. “Who have you moved on to now, Ryan---huh? Who are you controlling now so that you can still feel powerful and good about yourself? Who’s life are you fucking up now? You little fucker---you’re nothing! You’re nothing.”

O’Reily felt a surge of anger and adrenaline rush through his bloodstream as he darted across the small room and punched the man right on the jaw. His father grabbed his pained jaw and started yelling and cursing as Robinson quickly entered the cell and pushed the Irishman out of it to separate them. Lopresti quickly secured Seamus O’Reily’s cell as Robinson escorted O’Reily out of Solitary and probably directly to McManus to announce what just happened. 

At the moment, he did not care about any of it because there was no doubt he would have killed the old fuck if he was in the cell for any longer. His fingers were itching to be wrapped around his father’s neck and choking the life out of him as he walked back to Em City and struggled to get his anger under control. Cyril becoming brain damaged had never been one of his plans. He never wanted anything like that he happen to his kid brother. Seamus O’Reily was stuck inside his head.

To his surprise, Robinson only told him to go to his pod and did not involve McManus in anything when they came back. Alvarez caught him in a quick look but he turned away because he was in no mood to deal with the Latino right now. _I’m not controlling him._ O’Reily tried his best to ignore his father’s words and walked to his pod. Liam Meaney was sitting on the chair and writing something on his notebook when he entered. There was no way he could be alone now. It was all fucking Calderón fault for brining all those Latinos into Em City.

“Hey, Ryan,” the grunt said. “What’s the matter?”

“Not now, Liam,” he barked back as he went up to his bed.

“Geez---you’ve been so moody even before I got here. What’s up with that?”

“I said not now, asshole.”

“Whatever you want, man,” Meaney said. “All I know is that the old Ryan O’Reily didn’t let stupid shit bother him and get him off his game. He had fucking tunnel vision and made anyone who got him upset or made a move against him pay.”

“You done?” O’Reily asked but did not really care for the answer because he turned around on the bed to face the wall.

“Yeah. I’ll be outside. Cool off, Ryan.”

The underling was right in some aspects of their very short conversation. Since Cyril’s execution, he had not wanted to completely go back and stay in all his old ways because no matter how much plotting and lying and murders he had gotten away with, it still had not been enough to save his brother’s life. O’Reily had not fully wanted to go back to being that man but everything in the prison pushed him to it. Being the king of mind-fucking in this hellhole had become his stock and trade---his identity.

A lot of his bravado had been because he was protecting Cyril from anyone who wanted to take advantage of him. But, he had not been able to keep him safe from Schillinger and those other Aryan fucks raping him. O’Reily had always resented himself for not being able to prevent that from happening. Now that the Aryans were gone, he did not feel any better because Cyril was gone too. He was never coming back in this lifetime and only God knew where he was.

One thing was for sure though---he had to gain better control of his emotions or he was going to be doomed. El Cartel was quickly going to become a major threat and there was no doubt that Torquemada was going to drown Oz with Destiny once he got back from the hole. O’Reily had to remain his cool, collected, and calculating self of the past that everyone thought twice about dealing with if he was to have any chance of survival. This fucking cumhole had already taken his brother and was threatening to wipe out his father---he was not going to fall too.

The other side of the partnership had really started to fuck with his brain and his emotions. The partnership was already complicated because of its secret nature, but the physical closeness both men had come to experience continued to muddle and complicate things between them. It had never been this way in his mind---it was never supposed to be. He was no fucking fag. He never wanted to do anything sexual with anyone in Oz---especially the likes of Adebisi or Keller.

O’Reily closed his eyes and swore he felt the Latino’s fingers running down his forearm. Alvarez was entirely different from all of them, though. He was a man of strong convictions and valued loyalty and trust above just about everything else. He was a fucking god in this hell full of sinners and the soulless. On some primeval level, they understood each other better than anyone else could. It had far surpassed O’Reily simply being the brain in the partnership and Alvarez being the brawn. They had crossed over into each other’s distinguished space so early in the life of the partnership.

Sucking air of the door being opened found his ears and, “O’Reily, wake up.”

“I’m not sleeping. What do you want, Murphy?” the Irishman turned around and replied.

“Robinson told me about what happened in Solitary,” Murphy said and closed the door behind him to give privacy.

“So? The dickhead had it coming.”

“I went out on a limb for you, O’Reily, and this is the thanks I get? You got to keep that anger of yours in check.”

“Does McManus know?”

“No,” the hack said and looked at him as he got off the bed. “Not yet.”

“Don’t tell him.”

“Why not? You didn’t care who knew when you attacked him.”

“Just don’t, Murphy,” O’Reily said one last time because was not going to beg for anything. “It’s between me and him. He’ll survive one punch.”

“Knowing you---that’s probably the furthest thing from the truth,” he said in a serious but also normal way.

“Or it might not be.”

“I see,” Murphy replied but then stopped as if he was thinking. “Don’t let it happen again. I mean it. You fuck up one more time and I’ll make sure you have a cozy cell right next to your dear old dad.”

“On my honor as a boy scout, Officer Murphy, sir,” he raised his right hand and said as he mocked the entire situation.

“You’re a real comedian there, O’Reily,” the hack said and the buzzer sounded from all around them. “Go on. It’s time for lunch.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**The Irishman remained mostly unseen** as he leaned up against a column under the staircase and secretly watched El Cartel and his men across the quad. He had singlehandedly revived El Norte and had fortified it with enough new Latino inmates to make him a powerful force. It looked like they were planning something and O’Reily immediately thought about Alvarez and what that meant for him. Calderón had made it clear numerous times before that he was not going to accept Alvarez’s decision to stay away from the gang.

Already, the similarities between El Cartel and the past leaders of El Norte were starting to become known. He was more ruthless than El Cid had been and was more precise and calculating than Morales had been. But, he was falling into the same pattern and was making the same mistakes the past two leaders had. He was seriously underestimating and trying to control the loco Latino. O’Reily knew he had to come up with a plan to prevent Calderón from becoming too powerful, but also to keep him far away from Alvarez.

Neither of them could afford to draw any unwanted attention to themselves because of how tense the air had become inside these walls. Neither could do anything to expose the partnership, but El Cartel looked like he was going to give Alvarez problems. For now, he had to focus on slowing down the maniacal madman to keep both of them safe and completely unlinked to each other. O’Reily saw Redding passing by and an idea instantly formed itself in his head as to how he could buy himself more time---even when Torquemada was eventually released.

“Hey, Burr, come here---come here,” he said.

“I don’t have time for you, O’Reily,” the man stopped and said. “Got business to take care of.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah? Why you under here then?”

“Waiting. My business is with you,” O’Reily easily said.

“What business you got with me, son?”

“Bring back the homeboys, Burr. Gather your men and get back in the tit trade.”

“What the fuck angle are you working now, O’Reily?” Redding asked.

“I hear the telemarketing thing isn’t going too well. And most of your men deal on the side anyway.”

“Used to. They don’t anymore.”

“That’s only because Destiny is out of the picture. Once Torquemada comes back, his drugs do too,” the Irishman stated the fact. “Your boys will be behind your back in no time.”

“He floods the place and those boys who don’t listen to me will get what’s coming to them.”

“Listen to me, Burr. The telemarketing plan was good for a while but look at where the fuck we are. Your boys have lost interest and moved back to the only thing they know. Don’t abandon them. Get the homeboys back in the game. Start slinging tits again and you’ll get back all that power you gave up to do this telemarketing bullshit.”

The man said in his raspy voice, “Power isn’t everything inside these walls. If they choose not to follow me, then they deserve to be abandoned. For every one I lose, I’ll gain one.”

“We live in the same Oz, old man? Power and survival is all we got.”

He needed Redding to get away from his stupid telemarketing mindset and back to the one that had brought him to Oz in the first place. It was vital that he mended the rift with his men and took control over them pushing tits again because it would be another huge blow to Torquemada’s already crippled alliance with the niggers. O’Reily was growing impatient with Redding’s good act and wanted him to get back to being the real leader of the homeboys. The telemarketing bullshit was a phase that had passed and he needed to get back in the drug trade.

“You know the warden will shut down the program soon. He doesn’t like to see any of us out of our cages,” O’Reily said. “The inmates aren’t into it anymore. Time to move on, Burr.”

“I didn’t realize moving on meant going back to the old ways,” Redding sarcastically quipped.

“When the old way was working just fine, why not?”

“I gave up the drug trade when Augustus died. It would be an insult to his memory to start pushing again.”

“You’ll lose all your boys if you don’t make the right move. You haven’t been much of a leader lately, Burr. Not the kind of leader they want anyway,” he said. “When Querns finally has it with the telemarketing program, where will that leave you? Now is the time to make a preemptive move.”

“Not before I figure out what you’re up to, son. Not before that,” the man croaked out and left.

“You’ll never know that, you old fuck,” he snickered and laughed. “Not until after it’s too late.”

He remained under the stairs and out of the view of most of the other inmates as his eyes went back to Calderón and his now healthy gang. If Redding was to take his advice and get the homeboys back into the drug game, not only would Torquemada be weakened, but there would be a big enough gang to stand up to El Cartel and El Norte if they chose to go on the offensive. O’Reily knew how critical it was for Redding to bring the niggers back into power. There was no way he was going to let the queen or the warlord hold all the cards inside Em City.

The warden had to close down the telemarketing center sooner than later for his plan to be guaranteed. But, Querns was a fucking idiot that did not deserve to be running the prison because he did not care about anyone but himself. There had been numerous disagreements between him and the rest of the staff, and none of the prisoners had any respect for him because of all the programs and recreational activities he had slashed. He was making Oz feel more like a prison that it already was.

After lunch, he walked to work and thought about what his next move should be because everyone was playing it safe for the moment. Since Urbano, El Cartel had practically gone into seclusion and was only concerned with multiplying his men. Pancamo was a sitting duck without Torquemada and his D-tabs to control the inmates. Redding had to come to his senses and interject his gang back in the drug game before it was too late. The atmosphere was going to drown him if he did not strengthen his position.

As he walked into the infirmary, he looked around and saw that most of the beds were empty. Mostly, the hospital resembled a ghost town because of how quiet and inactive the entire prison was recently. O’Reily knew he could not get too used to it because, if his instincts were right about what was going to happen, the beds would soon be full with wounded and dying bodies. He looked over at Dr. Nathan’s office and saw Alvarez was in there talking to her. His curiosity got the best of him but he suppressed it and went to the storage room to restock supplies.

Since their conversation after he got out of the hole, O’Reily did not know where their partnership stood. Alvarez seemed to ignore him at every turn and they had not spoken since that critical conversation. He did not know what was going on and did not want to accept that their partnership was over---not at this crucial time. The Latino just needed to cool off and put everything into perspective before they could move forward. He looked at the list attached to a clipboard and browsed through the numerous shelves to find the supplies needed to be restock as he thought about the other man.

“Yo, Irish,” Alvarez greeted when he entered the storage room.

“What are you doing here, Alvarez?” he turned around and asked.

“What’s it look like? Working. What you think---I look cute in scrubs, huh?” the Latino said with that sexy grin of his.

“You’re so damn caught up in yourself---so vain. How do you fit that entire ego inside your head?”

“The same way you do, I think. And, it’s not being vain if it’s true. You look surprised to see me here.”

“I---I kind of am.”

“Why? We agreed I’d come and work here. Didn’t we?”

“Uh---yeah,” O’Reily said and had since stopped doing his job.

“Okay. Here I am.”

“I don’t know where the partnership stands,” he said the truth and felt awkward.

“Don’t do that shit again,” the Latino seriously said. “Everything we do, we talk about first.”

“All right. Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. Let me help you. I think I still remember the procedure,” Alvarez joked.

The Irishman was secretly happy that he was there and that they were putting the hole behind them to better the partnership. Both men worked together to stock up the cart so that they could replenish all the items out on the floor. He hated the fact that Alvarez was able to surprise him this way. It had completely caught him off guard seeing him here---especially with everything that was going on between them. O’Reily felt a strange warmth from their bodies being so close together. He immediately backed away.

“There you are, Ryan,” Dr. Nathan stood in the doorway and said. “I guess you’ve already noticed that Miguel will be working here now.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he said. 

“Can I see you in my office?”

“Okay.”

She walked away and he and Alvarez caught each other in a quick look before he left as well. Now that they had put everything behind them, the hospital was the perfect place for them to plot plans or pass information to one another. It was surprisingly private because most of the patients slept a lot because of the various drugs given to them for their various ailments. And, Dr. Nathan was out of the office a lot dealing with the inmates who could not be in the hospital ward or in numerous staff meetings. O’Reily closed the door behind him to seal them both away.

“What’s up?”

“I got the results of your HIV test back,” she said.

“Oh. What---what does it say?” O’Reily stomach suddenly went into a knot.

“You’re fine, Ryan. The tests came back negative. All your blood work came back negative. You don’t have anything foreign in your system”

“Fuck! That’s great news! Hey, thanks a lot.”

“Sure,” Dr. Nathan warmly said. “You needed to be sure.”

A weight was just lifted off his shoulders with the final results of his blood tests being revealed. He walked out of the office and saw Alvarez replacing used items with new ones for the patients and hospital staff alike. Their eyes were joined together again but he dismissed it and went to the back room to revel in the good news. O’Reily needed a minute for himself to let it all sink in and took a few moments for it to do so. He went back to the main room and began stripping a bed when they both noticed as Dr. Nathan came out of her office.

“Ryan, Miguel, I have to go down to Solitary and then Unit J to examine some patients. I’ll be back soon. The nurse should be coming back from her break within the next half an hour,” Dr. Nathan said and left them alone in the practically empty infirmary.

“What was that about?” the Latino asked when he was sure they were alone.

“I got tested. I had some blood work done to make sure everything was okay.”

“Why? Did something happen to make you think otherwise?”

“Let’s go in the back,” O’Reily said and then walked into the back room for a little more privacy.

“Hey, Ryan, is something wrong?” he followed and asked.

“Dammit! There is no easy way to say this.”

“So just say it.”

“I had to make sure I was clean. Especially after you---” O’Reily began to stay but stopped because he could not continue with the words.

“Oh---I get it. You think I gave you something,” Alvarez said and finished the awkward words for him.

“It’s not like there was a condom between us. And this is a goddamn prison.”

“I’m clean, man. I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t got anything.”

“Alvarez, before we do anything else, you got to get tested too. Tested---like I did,” the Irishman said his request.

“Don’t need to. I already told you I’m clean. What did your results say?”

“I got nothing.”

“See? We’re both good,” he said and did not like where the conversation was going.

“You have to be sure. I have to be sure.”

Alvarez face and expression said more than his words did at the moment. It was a big moment in whatever it was they had formed beyond the partnership and he looked like he was offended and maybe hurt by the words. O’Reily did not want to have this conversation here, where someone could easily walk in on them, but they had just fallen into it and he was going to take the opportunity to get everything out between them. It had become important to him.

“I’m not accusing you of anything. We both have to protect ourselves since we can’t get condoms without raising suspicion.”

“But I’m clean. I know I am,” Alvarez confidently said. “I don’t need any tests. Your tests prove that. We---”

“Don’t say it!” the Irishman quickly cut him off because he could not hear the words now.

“Well, it happened. And you got nothing from me.”

“Please, loco. I need you to do this so that we can both know. It’s just to be safe.”

“Shit, man. Fine,” he reluctantly agreed. “I’ll tell Dr. Nathan---tell her I got an infection when I was in the hole and want to have my blood tested. Just to be safe.”

“Sounds good. Okay.”

“You know, we’re going to have to talk about it. It did happen, you know.”

“You’re fucking kidding me! Of course I know it happened,” O’Reily prematurely snapped but did not mean to.

Now was the time to get answers and fill in the blanks in his memory as to all that had happened during their time in that storage room. O’Reily knew he needed to stop acting like a fucking kid because if he had not wanted it on some level, it never would have happened. He was no goddamn fag, though. He had spent almost as much time protecting his ass as he did plotting and working behind the scenes to get rid of his enemies. No one was ever supposed to know him in that way because he was never supposed to spread his legs and take it like a bitch.

“I don’t---I don’t remember much. Those pills really fucked with me---my head. I took so many,” the Irishman said with a hint of resentment in his tone.

“I know. You gave me some too. That mixed with D-tabs made for one nasty fucking cocktail.”

“Hey, come over here,” O’Reily said and pulled Alvarez by his arm to a secluded corner of the back room for even more privacy. “Alvarez---I have to ask you something. It’s something I never thought I’d ever be asking in my life. It’s difficult.”

“You sure here’s the right place to do it, then?” his voice got serious when he asked.

“We won’t be having this conversation long enough for anyone to notice anything. I need you to give me a straight answer---yes or no. That’s it.”

“Okay,” the Latino said and was a little confused. “I’m a little confused now.”

“That day, you know, did I, you know, did I---” O’Reily tried to get the words out but they just would not come.

“What is it, Ryan? Did you what?”

“Did I beg to be fucked? Did I beg you to fuck me, Alvarez?” he finally said and his eyes were glued to the floor because he felt too vulnerable.

“Oh, wow. Um, no---no. You didn’t beg. You kind of---teased me though.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know. It’s all complicated in my head too.”

“You don’t know for sure then?”

“No---I know you didn’t beg,” Alvarez confidently said what he remembered from the encounter. “It wasn’t anything like that. The teasing was different, though.”

“Okay, stop,” the Irishman said and felt like he was going to be sick. “I’m going back out there so that the hacks don’t notice we’re missing.”

“I’ll tell you what I mean later.”

The uncomfortable tension between them was at a formidable high and he walked out of the back room to finish stripping the unattended bed. As if on cue, the nurse showed up and was followed by a hack and an inmate complaining of a stomachache. She began to tend to him and O’Reily got back to work as Alvarez emerged from the back and busied himself with work as well. A part of him was relieved to hear that he did not beg for anything, but his brain was running laps to try to figure out how he had teased the Latino.

It was such a weird thing and he could not envision himself doing it. Of course, he had never envisioned himself getting fucked and seeing his own personal stars because of it either. It felt so different from anything he had ever done sexually and he was not as convinced as he wanted to be that he did not enjoy it on some level. Maybe it was the drugs that had made it feel good, and not Alvarez sliding in and out of him. The sliding that had eventually led to heat and then friction and then that spot that had made his skin whimper when it was touched. That spot that had made his blood boil and his urges for pleasure converge in a hostile takeover inside his brain.

The drugs had nothing to do with his pleasures that day. They had altered his mind into allowing Alvarez to go inside him, but the gratification his body had received from being connected to someone else’s had been all natural and created between them for them. O’Reily dragged the dirty bed linens and dumped them into the laundry cart to be taken away and cleaned. He was never going to resort to drugging himself into a stupor again. Cyril was gone and he had to accept that his younger brother was never coming back. 

He did not want to dwell on his kid brother, but his father’s words carved through him like a well-handled scalpel. What Seamus O’Reily had said to him was unacceptable and he was not going to put up with any more crap from the old bastard. Regardless of how the words affected him though, O’Reily was not going to stop the fight to keep him from death row. Cyril would want him to keep fighting to try to save their father, and he was not going to let him down again.

“Can you disappear tomorrow before we come in to work?” the Irishman asked Alvarez when they were both alone in the medical supplies room.

“The hacks are making it fucking harder to get lost. I can sneak away though.”

“Solitary, then?”

“The AIDS ward,” Alvarez replied and quickly looked at him. “It would be better for right now.”

“Hey. About before---” he said lowly and somewhat uncomfortably.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. We can use all the fragments to piece together the whole thing.”

“If we can,” O’Reily said and was unsure if he did want to know everything.

 

**Water sprinkled down** on his lightly tanned skin as one hand pressed into the tiled wall and the other one dangled almost lifelessly against his side. His head was stuck under the falling water and his eyes were closed because his brain wanted the freedom. Alvarez let his thoughts run anywhere else he wanted to be but behind bars and trapped like an animal. They had just come back from breakfast and his body was itching for a shower so he indulged himself. He had to find and take advantage of whatever pleasure he could find in the desolate wasteland that was his home.

He remembered to the conversation that happened in the infirmary with the Irishman. It had to have been uncomfortable and frustrating for him not to remember enough of their sexual encounter to ask the question he did. O’Reily was a private man that never wanted to talk about his feelings, so asking that question had to have been difficult for him. Alvarez did not see him any differently since their intercourse. The man was just as dangerous as he had ever been---probably more now.

The Latino wanted to ask him what it felt like---if he had liked it. He was not going to push because the subject obviously drove O’Reily over the edge. Something he had sworn he was never going to do or was never going to happen to him had, and he was having a rough time dealing with what it all meant. The door opened and he quickly glanced back and became irritated when he saw Calderón enter and walk over to the sink.

“I hear you’re working in the hospital now,” El Cartel said as he applied shaving cream to his face.

“It’s no secret.”

“You become more valuable to me with each passing day, Alvarez. You know that?”

“I’m not one of your boys,” the loco Latino said and wanted to end his now tainted shower. “My value don’t got dick to do with you.”

“True. But it has everything to do with El Norte.”

“Don’t you get tired of sounding like a fucking broken record? Get it through that thick skull of yours,” Alvarez said and shut off the shower because he was not going to stay anymore. “El Norte and me don’t belong in the same sentence anymore. I ain’t ever going back to that bullshit.”

“It was bullshit. How those fuckers in the past ran it was bullshit. El Norte never got the real respect it deserves.”

“And that’s where you come in?” he asked as he was drying off. “Is that it?”

“We’ll be the most powerful gang once I get done in here. If you’re smart, you’ll be on our side---the winning side.”

“I am on the winning side---mine. I’m not into any power quest. Don’t bother me with this shit again.”

“You don’t want to keep talking to me like that. You said you know who I am,” Calderón said and made it clear he was not to be taken lightly.

“I do know who you are. That don’t mean I’m scared. I’m not one of the gutless pricks you brought in here. You want to make a move on me? Go ahead and try. It’s become a fucking tradition with El Norte leaders now,” Alvarez slipped on his pants and laughed as he said.

“I’d prefer it if you were on my side. Laying waste to someone like you would be---counterproductive.”

“I bet.”

The man was so full of himself it was sickening. His ego alone could stand to be chopped down a few times but Alvarez was not going to get involved in any way with him. He gathered the rest of his stuff and left the shower room behind to go back to his pod. In the quad, O’Reily was passively giving him a look because he must have been looking at him and El Cartel interacting in the shower room. Alvarez gave him a quick wink and smile before he disappeared upstairs to his pod.

He knew the víbora’s eyes were still on him because he could feel it. It was amazing that after all this time and all the shit that had gone on between them, none of the other inmates or hacks knew about their partnership. There may have been the occasional bouts of mistrust between them, but Alvarez knew that there was no one else in Oz that was worth the time or effort to create a partnership with. He and O’Reily was an unstoppable force that none of these fucks had even the slightest clue about. That was why it was worth it.

His confidence to go up against El Cartel was mainly his own because he really was not afraid of the warlord, but some of his assurance did come from the fact that one of the most dangerous men in the entire prison was at his back. If something were to happen to him, he knew O’Reily would retaliate back hard. It was the same if the situation were in reverse as well. They had somewhat come to depend on each other for survival as well as some level of companionship.

Neither would ever physically admit that the partnership had dug such deep roots into them, however. The Latino had never been one to discuss his emotions and he knew O’Reily was even more standoffish about it than he was. There had been a few times where they had caught each other in weak moments and that was okay. Talking and sharing personal thoughts was the foundation of trust between them. No one ever knew what he wanted to name his son but the Irishman. And, Alvarez found out that behind all the bravado and lying and plotting, O’Reily was not a bad guy.

However, he would never say any of it to the Irishman because he did not want to be killed. O’Reily was comfortable being the person Oz had made him into and saw most emotions as extraneous and weak. He really was a decent man behind it all though. Hints of it had been made public in the past because of how he had cared and protected his bother Cyril. Alvarez sat on his bed and thought about all the bad choices and situations they both had made to cause them to be continually imprisoned away from the rest of the world.

Alvarez walked through almost maze-like hallways with a hack not far behind him. He had already been able to secure his disappearance for after lunch today and was heading to Father Mukada’s office because the priest had requested to see him. The purpose of the meeting was unknown to him, but he was not going to refuse a chance to go roaming since Querns wanted to keep them locked away for as many hours as possible. The guard stopped outside and Alvarez knocked on the widely opened door.

“You wanted to see me, Padre?”

“Miguel, yes. Come on in and close the door behind you,” Father Mukada said from his desk.

He did this and sat on one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk. Despite everything, the priest always remained on his side and always fought for him. After all the shit he had done inside this place, the man still had faith in him. Alvarez’s instincts knew there was something more there, but he was a priest. He had taken an oath to God and it was forbidden to act on such desires. He knew Father Mukada was fonder of him than of any other prisoner in Oz.

The Latino had been curious a few times before about how deep the priest’s feelings went for him. He had especially thought about it during the riot so many years ago. Father Mukada was a professional though, so it probably was not a sexual attraction. Maybe he was just determined to save Alvarez’s soul. Either way, Alvarez’s instincts had never been wrong when it came to people liking him. Father Mukada may have been a professional, but something was definitely going on behind that calm smile of his. Neither was ever going to bring it up, though.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I wanted to see how you were handling being off the drugs. I know it can be difficult sometimes---the withdrawal symptoms.”

“I’m past those cravings. I don’t get them anymore.”

“So, are you drug free right now?” the priest asked when he stopped writing.

“I’m clean. I’m never going back to that shit.”

“You seem to become more dangerous when you’re under the influence of drugs. You get more violent.”

“It’s the drugs fucking with my head too much,” Alvarez said. “I won’t go back.”

“Great,” Father Mukada said and came around his desk to stand in front of him. “I also wanted to talk to you about the young man I’ve seen you with a few times already. Giovanni Vieyra.”

“What about it?”

“Miguel, I want you to stay out of trouble.”

“Oh, is that it? You think I’m bringing trouble on the kid.”

“Let’s be honest, trouble does follow you like a magnet,” he said and Alvarez was a little hurt by the words coming from him.

“That’s not my fault. All I want to do be left the fuck alone in here. I don’t go looking for trouble anymore.”

“I know that. Your reputation alone makes you a target. Are you trying to influence this young man into those ways? The ways of your past?” Father Mukada said to him and it was obvious that he did not want to be so harsh. “You’re not using him, are you?”

“No. I’m trying to save his life,” the Latino almost snapped but remained under control.

“What do you mean? Is someone threatening Giovanni Vieyra?”

“No. I feel bad for him, you know. He didn’t grow up on the streets like I did. He doesn’t have the experiences I’ve had to live with growing up where I did,” he said and was serious about it. “He’s a good kid from a good neighborhood who just made one fucking mistake. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of him because he doesn’t have the street smarts I do.”

“So, you’ve befriended him?”

“The kid’s never been in a gang. He lives in a neighborhood where there are no gangs. Sounds damn nice, you know? I told him I’d look out for him while he was in. No bullshit. No secret agenda. It’s nothing sinister, Padre.”

He knew Father Mukada was only concerned about him so he did not take it too personally as he questioned him about his intentions with Vieyra. After all, finding trust in Oz, especially amongst the inmates, was like finding an autumn-colored leaf inside the dead of winter. Alvarez left the priest’s office shortly after their visit was over and was on his way to lunch because it had already started. He meant what he said. He was going to have the young Latino’s back and keep him out of trouble. Keep them both out of trouble. 

Alvarez walked the lone corridor after lunch with his instincts on edge and his mind ready were he to be found. The warden was spinning out of control with power and madness and the prison population, as well as the correctional staff, was growing restless and uneasy with all his new rules and regulations. The Latino easily found his way inside the room and found a spot to wait for his partner. He wondered what O’Reily would think of him protecting Vieyra. In the front of the room, the doorknob wiggled and inconspicuously opened and closed back.

“Anyone see you?” the Irishman oddly asked.

“No. Why?”

“I thought I saw a hack following me. We might not have a lot of time.”

“All these fucking rules are crazy. Querns is a goddamn idiot,” Alvarez said and sat down on the ground.

“He’s riling up the prisoners. I don’t know why, though,” he said and sat too. “I think he’s up to something.”

“Or he just wants to keep us all under lock and key. The man likes his order.”

“He keeps running the prison like this and he’ll have anything but order.”

The Latino changed the subject and said, “Heard you were talking to Redding. Spinning your webs?”

“A viper can’t spin webs, Miguel. You’re getting your animals confused,” he said and laughed.

“Uh-huh. Tell me about it,” he said and referred to the conversation with Redding.

“Just to keep our asses safe. If Redding puts this telemarketing honest work bullshit behind him and starts the niggers slinging again, the odds would be better stacked in our favor,” O’Reily said.

“Torquemada will lose his control of the niggers and it’ll be another hit to his business.”

“Exactly. That fucking queen will have his hands full when he gets out. Pancamo will have a few choice words for him too, I bet.”

“Don’t underestimate Destiny, víbora. That’s his ticket. The prisoners love that shit. They were easily hooked the first time,” Alvarez said what they both knew was the truth.

Even if Torquemada did lose the homeboys, his precious D-tabs were going to reel everyone back to him once he was out of the hole. It was important that Redding and Calderón started slinging tits again to combat Destiny’s hold on the prison. Though he had lost followers, the queen was still a powerful force because of his synthetic drug. Both Alvarez and O’Reily knew it and that was why neither man underestimated him. This was another reason why the partnership between them had to remain intact.

“He’ll want you back when he comes out, you know,” O’Reily slightly changed directions and said.

“He never had me,” he replied with adamancy in his voice.

“You know what I mean. He’ll want you back on D-tabs.”

“Say what you’re trying to say.”

“I don’t want you going back on D-tabs. I know you don’t see it but he controls you that way, loco. This isn’t about me being jealous or any of that other shit. You have to have as little contact with him as possible. I need you drug free for the partnership. Don’t let him drug you and turn you against me.”

“Is that an order?” Alvarez asked because he had to be sure.

“No. You told me you wanted honesty. We work so much better when neither of us is high. We both have to stay off the drugs and focus and having each other’s backs. We have to be on each other’s side.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m done with that shit, Ryan. It fucks with my head too much after I come down. He won’t get anything near me. I’m serious.”

“Good,” the Irishman said and felt a shade of relief inside. “I see Calderón hounding you every chance he gets.”

“He’s fucking pissing me off. Doesn’t hear shit when I tell him no. I tell him to back off and he still comes at me.”

“Don’t go too hard. He’s all powered up with El Norte and is even more dangerous now.”

“What---I thought you liked it when I went hard?” the Latino said in a secretly lewd manner and smiled that devilish grin of his.

The allusion to sex made O’Reily’s face turn almost completely pale and white and his body slightly tensed up. That was supposed to be the real reason for them meeting---to talk about what had happened between them. Alvarez was ready with another sexual pun as his comeback but all that became lost because the storage room had fallen into dead silence. It probably was always going to be an uncomfortable topic for him to talk about, especially with how he felt about them being together threatening his manhood. 

Maybe now was the time to get everything out in the open---what both of them remembered anyway. There was no denying it had happened and there certainly was no going back on it. Alvarez wanted to start the conversation but knew it was a difficult subject to even to begin to approach. He did not know if it was the drugs or not, but he had not felt so exhilarated in the grips of sex in such a long time. And even when he had been with Maritza, most of the times it had not been as intense as it had been that one time with Ryan O’Reily.

“Alvarez, look---it was the drugs, okay? My fucked up father killing Neema. It---it put me in the same position as before. Like it was with Cyril. Oh, Cyril,” he tried to explain that day. “My lost feelings for Gloria.”

“I know. I know. Hey, you don’t have to explain. I just thought we were going to try and figure out everything that happened.”

“I don’t know if I want to know. I did something I fucking swore to myself would never happen. And especially in this pisshole.”

“You got to relax, Ryan,” the Latino calmly said. “You got to take the edge off, you know?”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who had a dick shoved up your ass!” O’Reily snapped and looked away as he quickly jumped up to his feet.

“No. Would that make you feel better, though? Would it help you deal with it?”

“What?”

“If I let you do it? If I let you fuck me?” Alvarez said in a way that was mostly unreadable.

“What? Are you insane, Alvarez? You want to get fucked?” he turned around and asked as their eyes met.

“Not particularly. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it a couple times before, though. Especially after we did it.”

“So why offer yourself like that, then?”

Alvarez stood up and said, “Because we’re partners, Ryan. We’re equal, right? I know what happened is bothering you. Maybe this would take some of that away. Take the edge off.”

“I don’t know. Everything is so fucking confusing between us.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Can we drop this?” O’Reily said out of nowhere. “Tell me about the kid before we go. Gio.”

“You know him?”

“Spoke once in the laundry room. What’s up with him? I see him hanging around you. Is he from your neighborhood?”

Alvarez was not at all surprised by this but he was curious as to what they had spoken about. If he knew O’Reily, and he did, the man had probably tried to see if Vieyra knew any information. He had probably picked the young Latino’s brain without him even knowing he was fishing for information. The Irishman was superiorly skillful at that after all. Now was as good a time as any to tell him about his arrangement with Gio Vieyra.

“Not at all. The kid has never been out on the streets a day in his life. He’s raw to experiences like this.”

“Damn. I kind of figured from talking to him. What a way to start getting street experience---in prison. He’ll be an easy target for anybody,” O’Reily already pieced the words together and said.

“Tell me about it. He sticks out as much as a virgin would in this fuckhole. Even has Calderón sniffing around him.”

“He’s as good as dead if that deranged bastard’s locked on to his scent. If he smells blood, that kid is long gone.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Alvarez said and half smiled. “You see blood and it’s over.”

“Maybe. But I kill to survive. El Cartel kills for sport. He’s a sick fuck that gets off on that shit. I don’t.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, víbora. I know you.”

“Yeah, well---” the Irishman said and it became slightly awkward again.

“Hey, listen. I told him, you know, I’d look out for him. You know, be his eyes and ears.”

“What? What are you talking about? Why would you do that?”

“He’s a lost kid, O’Reily. I just want to see him get the hell out of here. I won’t let El Cartel fuck another one of us up. He knows I got the kid’s back.”

“If El Cartel’s on his ass then he’s damaged already. This shit is bad, Miguel. El Cartel could use him to get to you, and could figure out our partnership,” O’Reily said and did not sound too supportive of his decision. “It’s too dangerous to be seen with him. Especially if you’re rubbing it in El Cartel’s face.”

He did not believe the words that were being spoken from the Irishman. It was getting him upset but he had to remain composed because the conversation was not going to escalate into an argument. There had been too many arguments that had strained their partnership in the past. Alvarez closed his eyes and rubbed fingers over his forehead and cheek because he wanted to find the right words to say. Protecting Vieyra was something he wanted to do because he felt it to be the right move. El Cartel was never going to get his poisonous hooks into the young Latino.

“Listen to yourself, O’Reily. He’s a goddamn kid. Not a fucking broken toy to throw away,” the Latino strongly said. “He doesn’t know anything about this fucked up world. I won’t let Calderón get his hands on him and drag him down. I’ll make sure of that.”

“He did the crime, so he’s not that innocent. He can take care of himself. He’s not a fucking kid anymore. You don’t need to babysit him.”

“You know how dangerous it is in here. Someone like him won’t last long. I’m not asking for your permission,” Alvarez said because he did not need approval to look out for one of his own.

“Why are we talking about it, then? You already made your move,” O’Reily asked and was more than annoyed by the implication.

“Just letting you know. Didn’t want you to think I was hiding it from you. You know, doing shit behind your back.”

“Okay---I deserved that.”

“I know you did. That’s why I said it.”

You want me to keep an eye on him too. Am I somewhere close?” he made the assumption from Alvarez’s tone. “Tell me I’m somewhere close.”

“I wouldn’t refuse it if you did. Come on, Ryan. You know he won’t survive in here by himself. He doesn’t deserve to die because of one stupid mistake he made on the outside,” Alvarez said to try to convince his partner. “You know Calderón will want him dead when he gets tired of the cat and mouse game. And I can’t keep my eyes on him all the time.”

“You realize what the fuck you’re asking, Alvarez? No. I only offer that kind of protection when I’m in business with someone and getting something in return. This kid has nothing I want.”

“I told him I would keep him safe. I can’t take that shit back now.”

“That’s your mistake, then. You can’t guarantee that. Just like you can’t guarantee that you’ll be safe yourself when Calderón goes on the warpath,” the Irishman said and did not believe the other man’s inexperience in handling the situation. “He’s eventually going to get tired of you saying no to him, too.”

“You’re wrong. Calderón ain’t got nothing on me. He’s never going to touch me.”

“How the hell are you so goddamn sure of that?”

“Because---I got you. And you got me. This fucking partnership keeps me safe. I believe that. I fucking believe that more than anything right now,” the Latino said another piece of truth. “He needs us, Ryan.”

O’Reily remained silent at the words because he did not know what to say. Alvarez seemed determined to get them both on the same page about the young kid. He was an opportunist and that became especially prominent when he was thrown behind bars. He only used people to get what he wanted and then had abandoned them to move on to the next business arrangement. It was his only way of survival. What the Latino was asking of him was to be selfless and to do something without the promise of anything in return.

“What do you mean---like together? You want to tell him about our partnership?” O’Reily finally said by firing off questions.

“No. Just keep an eye on him without letting him know. He doesn’t need to know anything about our alliance.”

“This is crazy.”

“That’s why you call me loco, baby,” Alvarez smiled at him.

“You too goddamn cocky sometimes,” he said and had to smile too.

“Hey---it’s kept me alive in here.”

“Goddamn you, Alvarez. How the hell can I say no when you put me in a position like this?” the Irishman said and did not like that he felt backed into a corner.

“That’s the point. You can’t.”

“Fuck it. We got to get to the hospital.”

“I’ll have Dr. Nathan draw blood today. Even though I know I don’t have anything,” the Latino said and got ready to leave. “Later, Irish.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**A few days had passed** since he had allowed Dr. Nathan to take his blood to be tested for any type of disease. O’Reily was paranoid for nothing, but he understood why it had become important because they were in prison. And, even though both men were positive that the other had never engaged in any sexual activity with any other inmate, it still was the right step to get tested to be absolutely sure. Alvarez knew that using condoms was out of the question, so making sure they were both clean was the next best thing.

It was late evening in Em City and the Latino was on his bed and staring up at the bottom of the bed that was on top of his and was ready for sleep. Today in the infirmary had been particularly busy because Dr. Nathan and the entire medical program was under performance review so state medical board had practically spent the entire day making sure everything was up to their standards. Alvarez had never seen Dr. Nathan or the nurses so stressed out. He and O’Reily did the best they could to stay out of her way and give her whatever help she had needed.

He desperately wanted someone to massage the tight bunch of muscles of his shoulders and neck. Lights out was going to be called soon because most of the inmates were already in their pods for the night. Hating himself for not brushing his teeth earlier before getting into bed, Alvarez stood up and went to the sink to get the task done. Running water touched one of his fingers while his other hand gripped the toothbrush and moved it back and forth inside his mouth. The cold water caused his skin to hiss.

Back in bed after the self-imposed interruption, he thought about it again. He thought about a particular part of a conversation he and O’Reily had a few days ago. Alvarez did not know why he had offered himself to get fucked because that had never been something worthy of his thoughts because it was never a possibility. Then again, he imagined that the Irishman had the same adamant feelings about it never happening to him either. He was so hard towards himself for it ever getting to that level in the first place.

O’Reily just seemed so disgusted and hateful of himself because he had allowed something like that to happen to him. Everyone in Oz knew he was no faggot because he made sure they all knew that something like that would be never an option to him. The Latino was not sure if he was serious about his own proposal. He had just wanted O’Reily to stop being so hard on himself about it. They had already gone so far with one another so this last step did not seem as impossible as it once had been. The most important parameter set for the partnership from the very beginning was broken. Air subtraction sucked into his ears as the pod door was pulled open.

“Guess who’s back?” Torquemada proudly announced himself into the pod. “Aww. Are you thinking about me, sugar?”

“Throw yourself a parade to announce it to the rest of the world. I don’t care,” he replied and did not bother to look at the man.

“What’s wrong, Miguelito? Are you unhappy to see me?”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Alvarez finally turned to him and strongly said. “Or any of that other bullshit you call me. You got it?”

“Okay, okay. Calm down. Why are you so upset?”

“I’m not. I’m just not dealing with your goddamn shit anymore.”

“What shit?” the predatory queen asked and he went to splash water over his face. 

“Playing dumb isn’t your thing, chica. Most of us can already see through it---see past you.”

“Is that supposed to mean something? A hint of some sort?”

“It can mean whatever the fuck you want it to mean. That don’t concern me,” the Latino said and the conversation was already dragging on longer that he wanted it to.

“I understand the hole must have been so unpleasant for you. Believe me; I know how it is to be isolated away without any sense of time or direction. It was no fun.”

“You don’t understand dick. Don’t assume you know shit about me because, you know, you don’t. Leave me alone.”

“I can’t leave you alone, Miguel. I need your help. You are the only one I can trust in the entire prison. Don’t turn your back on me, Miguel. Miguel?”

The queen had some nerve saying all the shit he was. There was never trust between them. The only thing that was between them was D-tabs, and now that Alvarez was sure he was never going back to the drug, there was nothing else left there. Torquemada had to be delusional if he thought that everything would remain the same once he came out of the hole. O’Reily made sure that so much changed in Torquemada’s role in Em City while the queen was away. He had to stop himself from bursting out with laughter.

“Lights out!” Murphy yelled and essentially shut down Em City. “Night, fellas.”

“You left that little brain of yours in the hole if you think I’m helping you with anything,” Alvarez said when his insides were contained from laughing.

“My plan still remains to control all of Em City. This little time out was only a small setback for us. I thought you were on my side about wanting to gain control in here?”

“Well, you thought wrong. There is no us. I’m by myself. Always have been---always will be. Don’t want anything to do with you or anyone else in here.”

“This truly is disappointing,” Torquemada said as he got prepared for bed. “You’re not thinking clearly. Destiny will put you back on track. A shipment will be delivered the day after tomorrow and then you’ll come back to your senses.”

Alvarez shot up from his bed to meet the man’s face and said, “You think I’m fucking kidding? You think this is a goddamn joke? Keep thinking that and see what happens.”

“Your chest looks so puffed out and strong when you’re angry,” he said as he slightly looked down at the other man’s naked chest almost pressing into his clothed one. “Your naked body was all I thought about while strapped to that chair.”

“You’re a sick bastard. All that shit stops here,” the Latino stepped back and said. “Go after Em City yourself and leave me the hell out of your plans. We ain’t nothing more than podmates. Me, my body, every fucking thing about me is off limits to you. That clear?”

“You’ll change your mind once I get D-tabs back in circulation inside Em City.”

“Don’t hold your breath, chica. Better yet---do.”

“Charming.”

Alvarez headed back to bed and only wanted to ignore the other man for the rest of their time being podmates. Maybe he could ask McManus to trade with someone else because this conversation severely opened his eyes. He realized that O’Reily was right when he said that Torquemada had used Destiny to control him. His mind had been too gone on the drug to notice the truth. The Latino felt sick inside when he mind ran across all the touching and pleasuring he had done to himself for the queen’s viewing pleasure.

Torquemada looked down as he stood in front of the beds and said, “Where did this change of attitude come from? What happened when you came out of the hole?”

“Not a damn thing. You want shit done, do it without me. Told you---we nothing but podmates now.”

“I see. The first step I took back into Em City, I noticed a change in the---atmosphere. What do you make of that, Miguel? What do your instincts say?”

“It’s all in your head. And that I don’t care either way what you notice,” the Latino dismissively said.

“Now even you don’t believe that with those legendary instincts of yours.”

“Don’t matter what I believe. We’re done talking.”

“What a shame. I was so looking forward to one of your shows tonight. It was all I thought about while I was away.”

He turned on his side so that he was facing away from Torquemada and tried to get some sleep. The man was in for a rude awakening tomorrow when he had to deal with Pancamo and saw that Calderón and the newly revitalized El Norte had risen and was no longer under his control. Alvarez was disgusted with himself for ever allowing the man to get so close and sexually touch him. His skin crawled at the possibilities of what had happened that he knew nothing about because Destiny had invaded his mind for all those nights.

The Irishman was right all along about Torquemada using his D-tabs to control him. Alvarez hated himself for not being able to see it and put a stop to it before he had been set up to land in the hole. He closed his eyes and imagined being on a beach with the sun’s rays touching his naked chest and his toes digging into silky white sand. All the time he had spent with the queen had to be wiped from his brain because he had allowed himself to be controlled and used. Destiny still posed a powerful threat to Oz.

Regardless of what he personally felt towards the man, Torquemada was right in that the atmosphere had changed inside Em City. The following days had proved as much with the tensions boiling to an all-time high amongst the groups fighting for dominance. No one had made any moves yet, but it looked like that was not going to be the case much longer. Alvarez did not directly want to be a part of any of it. They were all eventually going to take each other out.

And, through all the turmoil, he and O’Reily would emerge alive because of all the strings they pulled behind the scenes. Throwing around power the way Calderón, Torquemada, and Redding did was going to get them nothing but killed. Since their partnership, Alvarez saw his power increase tremendously and he was never going to brag about it. That would only be a way of getting killed like so many of the fallen leaders of the past.

He sat at an empty table in the edge of the quad and was flipping through playing cards as he thought about the changing tone inside Oz. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Torquemada and Pancamo talking upstairs in the classroom. Alvarez remembered the many times he had sat in on those conversations and even had contributed in the plotting. Destiny had fucked with his mind beyond belief while he had been engulfed within its grasp. 

Since he had been going to Sister Pete’s sessions, he eyes had been widely opened to as to how D-tabs had made him say or do things he never would have done sober. They had to be scrambling to get the synthetic drug back in circulation. From what Torquemada said to him on his first night back from the hole, the shipment was supposed to be coming in today. Alvarez suspected that was what the meeting in the classroom was about. Calderón slipped through the quad and sat opposite him at the table.

“So you partner’s finally out of the hole,” the man said with a severe face. “What’s his plan?”

“He’s not my partner. If you want to know what he’s up to, talk to him. Not me.”

“You share the same pod. You talk.”

“What’s your deal, Calderón?” Alvarez said and was angry that his alone time was disrupted.

“I took El Norte from right under his grip. I expected the man to have a few words to say to me. There’s been nothing since he came out a couple days ago.”

“This concerns me how?”

“You’re not stupid, Miguel. Pretending to be doesn’t suit you,” El Cartel said as if he demanded answers.

“Don’t know what you mean. We’re podmates. That’s it.”

“I see. Then, what about Vieyra?”

“What about him?” the Latino asked with a sudden spark in the conversation.

“It would be a shame if he met with some unfortunate accident. All because you still refuse to join a gang that would make use of all your talents. Joining your brothers.”

“Leave him out of this. He’s got nothing to do with me or El Norte.”

“Yet you protect him. What do you get from that arrangement? It can’t be easy babysitting someone who is so unaware of the real world around him.”

“The satisfaction of knowing that you won’t be able to touch him. Now get the fuck out of my face before I make you.”

El Cartel gave a sour look but honored the request and left him alone at the table. The man was determined to get Alvarez under his control before anything went down with Torquemada. Threatening Vieyra’s life was another ploy meant to spur him into action but the Latino was not going to be forced to make a move that way. With him and O’Reily on the lookout, the kid was going to be safe from any accidents. He gathered up the cards and left the table because he was no longer in the mood to be playing with them.

After the conversation happened between him and Calderón in the quad, Alvarez had caught the eyes of Torquemada and Pancamo from the classroom. Both men had unreadable expressions tattooed on their faces, but he knew what had to be going on in their minds. He would deal with them later, but he was sure that Torquemada would approach him sooner rather than later asking questions. 

During lunch, Alvarez sat at the edge of a partially occupied table and bit into an apple. He did not feel like having anything else because his appetite was shot. He was becoming too involved even though he was trying to stay away from everyone but his secret partnership. El Cartel was still hounding him and Torquemada would eventually want answers as to why he was no longer on Destiny. The Latino saw Vieyra passing him by and stopped him with a simple request.

“Ay, kid. Sit with me,” he said and ushered to the seat across from him with his head.

“Gio. I’ll keep drilling it into your head until you get it,” the young Latino sat down and laughed a little.

“You do that.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean---”

“Relax. I’ll work on it,” Alvarez said during the awkward moment and cracked a small smile.

“Okay. What’s up?”

“I need you to stay out of the way for a while. Stay low.”

“Like in my pod and stuff?” Vieyra asked as his brain started thinking of the possible reasons. “Why?”

“The details aren’t important. Just do it.”

“Miguel, what’s going on? What happened?”

“Look, kid---Gio. Don’t worry about anything. Just listen to me and keep your head down,” Alvarez said because he wanted to keep the conversation short.

The kid nodded at the instructions and Alvarez got up and left because lunch was over and he had to get to work. He did not need to worry Vieyra by saying anything because he was positive that Calderón was just using the kid to get to him. Though, the precaution had to be taken because the warlord would never think twice about taking another life, even someone of his own skin. Urbano’s death was proof of the type of malevolence El Cartel was capable of.

He walked into the infirmary and noticed a few more beds were occupied than over the past couple of days. Most of the patients were there because of wounds sustained from fighting or self-inflicted. Alvarez made his way to the back room to find that the Irishman was not there either. The list found its way under his fingers as he got to work, but was stopped when Dr. Nathan stood at the doorway and asked to speak to him in her office.

“I got back the results from your blood screening,” Dr. Nathan said after she closed her office door. “Your results came back negative. The HIV test results should be in sometime next week.”

“Damn. That’s a relief. I thought I caught something down in the hole.”

“Not at all. You’re clean. I’m sure the HIV test will come back the same as well.”

“Yeah,” the Latino said.

“Hey, have you seen Ryan today? He’s late for work.”

“Speak of the devil. There he is,” Alvarez said as he just noticed O’Reily walking into the hospital.

The Irishman knocked on the office door and waited for confirmation before he entered and said, “Sorry I’m late. I got stuck in a situation.”

“That’s all right. We’re finished, Miguel. You’ll know the rest as soon as I do.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Both men left the office and Dr. Nathan followed a short while after to check on some of the patients, especially the few suicidal ones. The hours passed by with each of them keeping busy with work. An inmate had come in with a stab wound so Dr. Nathan and the nurses had been busy tending to him because it was so close to his heart. Alvarez was in the back room making a list of items that needed to be ordered when O’Reily came in and began washing his hands.

“You got the test results back?” he asked as he was drying his hands.

“Negative. I’ll get the HIV results for you next week. You happy now?”

“Alvarez, you’re still upset about having to do this?”

“No,” the Latino responded. “No. Not about that.”

“What happened?”

“Calderón’s trying to shake me by threatening the kid.”

“We have to come up with a way to get him and Torquemada to take each other out before that happens. Or before one of them gets control of Oz,” O’Reily said as he leaned against the countertop and watched the other man work.

“That’s damn near impossible. They won’t kill themselves when they got men to do it for them.”

“Not for you and me.”

“You got something in mind?” Alvarez asked and looked at him.

“Not yet. Redding doesn’t look like he’s giving up on the telemarketing bullshit. Of all the shit Querns could’ve cut, I thought that would’ve been first on the list. But, of course, the warden’s a dumbfuck.”

“We have to keep our eye on Vieyra.”

“Dammit, loco. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” O’Reily said with a hint of aggravation and annoyance in his voice. “The kid’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

Alvarez put down the clipboard, pulled the other man into a secluded corner, and quickly planted a kiss on his lips to silence him. They were not going to have the same argument about protecting Gio Vieyra again. As quickly as their lips were pressed together, they became undone and eyes looked into one another’s. He managed to take O’Reily off guard and his instincts again pushed him forward so that another kiss started.

“Get off. Not here,” the Irishman quickly pushed him off and said as he got away from the corner.

“Had to shut you up somehow.”

“Don’t get cocky with me, Alvarez. He’s trouble. We have to focus on Calderón and Torquemada and not running after some fucking kid.”

“You want me to kiss you again?” Alvarez moved closer and smiled as he asked.

“Stop playing around goddammit! This is serious.”

“Relax, Irish. Those two fucks can’t touch us. I told you that. I just don’t want to argue about us protecting him again.”

O’Reily sulked his way completely away from the corner and left the back room. The Latino had to smile to himself because the man looked cute when he pouted because he did not get his way. As much as he protested looking out for Vieyra, Alvarez knew that he could and did trust the man to keep an eye on the kid. He retrieved the clipboard and got back to work before anyone could notice anything suspicious. The taste of Ryan O’Reily’s lips was smeared against his own.

 

**Weeks had floated** by without much interactions or actions from either side. Destiny had slowly been reintroduced to the prison population, but it had not been as abundantly overpowering as it once was. Torquemada was still a prominent figure within Em City, but his drugs had lost some of its luster. Calderón had mostly been wrapped up in El Norte, but constantly had his eyes open in case he had needed to make a surprise move. The anticipation and tension of an obviously looming war hung in the stagnant air of the entire prison.

O’Reily did not know what to think because neither side was making a move against the other. He thought that things would explode once the queen had gotten back from the hole, but everything since then had been rather tame. The Irishman paced inside his pod thinking and strategizing as a pair of eyes followed him back and forth. Liam Meaney sat on his bed and fiddled with a pencil in between his fingers.

“Torquemada’s bringing Destiny back up,” the grunt said.

“Not a chance. Even he knows his shit is losing steam in here. The inmates are getting past it.”

“But for how long? You know that can change in a second.”

“Fuck. That can’t happen,” O’Reily said as he stopped pacing and looked outside to the quad. “His days are numbered in here.”

“You got a plan?”

“Don’t I always?”

It was not exactly true. O’Reily did not want himself or Alvarez to get directly involved in the feud because it would be too dangerous and could risk exposing the partnership. Redding was supposed to be his alternate option, but the man still refused to rally the homeboys to start slinging tits again. Redding would have made sure that D-tabs did not spread any further. He grew increasingly frustrated with the old fuck, but could not push any more without hints of his true intentions being revealed.

A few hours had passed and the Irishman had disappeared for a while because he needed to get away. It was riskier now because he knew both Calderón and Torquemada had their eyes on him, and especially Alvarez. The Latino had seemingly become the center of attraction for those two swirling vultures. Neither of them was going to have him, though. And, they were definitely not going to have him the way O’Reily had him. The partnership was going to remain intact.

He waited in one of the few closets that had become their spots for Alvarez to disappear and join him there. Working together in the infirmary was great, but there were still eyes there so it was hard to pass too much information or produce plans without drawing any attention. As far as the entirety Oz knew, the two of them did nothing more than work together in the hospital. The doorknob wiggled and quickly opened and closed shut as Alvarez made his disappearance known.

“What’s up, Irish?” he said in that sultry way he probably was unaware he was doing because it all was so natural to him.

“Things are going to shit, loco. Fucking Redding’s not doing what I want him to. It’s only time before El Cartel and Torquemada make moves. We have to be prepared.”

“Calm down. Calm down, papa. You’ll get worry lines and not be so cute anymore,” the Latino said and laughed.

“You got fucking jokes, Alvarez. We’ll see how funny you are when we’re stuck in the middle of the goddamn war that’s coming,” O’Reily said and slid down and sat against the wall.

“Okay, relax. We’ll survive. We always do, víbora.”

“We have to figure out a way to get the warden to shut down the telemarketing operation. Without the niggers backing him, Torquemada will be an easy target for El Cartel to take out.”

“Don’t underestimate him. He may hang out with the fags, but he’s one of us. He’s a fighter just like you and me,” Alvarez said and easily sat next to him on the floor.

“When did you become a fan of his?”

“What? I’m not. I’m just saying that underestimating him is a mistake we don’t have to make. And, we don’t need to stroke the flames of this war.”

“Why not? We have to get that bastard and his synthetic shit out of here.”

“Come on, Ryan,” Alvarez said as he looked at the floor in front of them. “Isn’t there enough blood on our consciences?”

“What the hell are you saying?”

“How many deaths have you and I been responsible for since we’ve been in here? Whether directly or indirectly?”

O’Reily did not know where the conversation was headed but it sounded like Alvarez did not want Torquemada to be taken out. A spark of jealously inflamed his insides but he remained in control because he had to hear the reasoning behind his partner’s thought process. If something else was going on, he was going to get to the bottom of it because that queen was not going to drive them apart again. He did not have the power to anymore.

“You don’t want him to be taken out,” he made the true observation.

“If it could be prevented, then no,” the Latino made part of his thoughts known.

“Why not? I thought you hated him as much as I do.”

“I don’t hate him. I just want us to stay away from him.”

“And you think he’ll stay away from us? From you?” O’Reily asked and was surprised and angry by the conversation’s turn. “The fuck wants you under his control. He won’t stop until he gets Destiny inside you again.”

“He knows that’s not going to happen. I spoke to him and made it clear that all that shit was over with.”

“Because he listened to you the first time around, right?”

“What do you want me to say, O’Reily?”

“That we’re on the fucking same page about that cocksucker. He’s dangerous and has to be airholed before he gets any more power and influence inside here,” the Irishman said and was getting ready to stand up but was stopped by Alvarez pulling his hand back down.

“Don’t.”

“Let me go, Alvarez. I can’t believe I’m hearing this bullshit from you. The man wants to control you, and you want to let him live?”

“Sit,” he said, but not in a demanding way. “I told you, you don’t have to be jealous of him. Nothing’s going on between me and him.”

“I told you I wasn’t fucking jealous! Stop saying that shit! And I don’t give a damn who you fuck with,” O’Reily said and jerked his hand away.

Alvarez immediately sprung to his feet and held the other man from leaving by placing both his hands on his waist. Compassionate brown eyes mingled with burning green ones and no words were said as lips moved closer to be caught in a kiss. Bodies seamlessly pressed together and lips and tongues danced around one another’s for attention and denied satisfaction. O’Reily broke away before he fell too deeply in and turned away because his anger was still real.

“Don’t use that to get out of this. I want an explanation.”

“You know I’m not fucking with him. You’re the only one I do that with,” the Latino said. “I’m sick of all the killing---all the blood and bodies around here.”

“This cumhole is hell, Miguel. It’s killed or be killed. You know that.”

“We do what we have to for survival in here. Yeah---I hear you. It’s always the same.”

“This is serious. We have to handle him or make a way so that El Cartel does it for us,” O’Reily turned back around and said. “You can’t lose your drive to survive now, loco.”

“I’ll never lose that. I’m just tired of all the shit.”

“Me too. But this is our life inside here. We can’t be off our game for one second. Trust me, Miguel. We have to come up with a plan to keep our asses safe. And the only way that can happen is by getting rid of Torquemada and El Cartel.”

“Something has to happen to the telemarketing business to get the warden to shut it down. Like sabotage or something, you know?” Alvarez snapped himself out of his past mindset and focused on the future. “That’ll force Redding to get back in the game.”

“But what?”

“Don’t know. But, if something happened to the program, I know the warden wouldn’t reinstate it. He wants all us animals locked in our cages as much as possible.”

“Yeah. Maybe we should have the room trashed. Destroy the phones and all that,” the Irishman uncharacteristically thought aloud. “We could set that up, and then Redding will fall right into his spot in the plan.”

“He would. Power would be distributed more evenly among those three fucks. Keeping balance is key.”

O’Reily knew he was making sense and his mind was already churning ideas on how to destroy the telemarketing room and subsequently force Redding’s position in the overall plan. His body tensed up when he felt Alvarez’s hand on his crotch and squeezing his manhood. No matter how many times they had messed around in the past, a part of the Irishman always became on edge when he felt his dick being touched by another man.

Maybe because it was never supposed to happen or even be a possibility in here. His brain knew that he was practically only surrounded by men so sexual touches were supposed to be out of the question. But, it felt too good to refuse so his hand reached out and touched Alvarez’s dick through his pants. The Latino had gotten the negative results of his HIV test over a week ago, so they were both clean from everything. O’Reily closed his eyes and let the sexual desire and satisfaction inside him take over because his mind needed the distraction.

But, they had not done anything since then because they barely had any time alone. Eluding the hacks was becoming more and more of a challenge and their bribe prices were becoming higher. Compounded with both Calderón and Torquemada watching Alvarez’s every move and O’Reily trying to start the war, there was barely any time to be alone to plot or talk or just enjoy each other’s company. That had come to be an important part of the partnership that neither was willing to give up now. 

A part of him still did not want to enjoy being so close to another man, but O’Reily realized long ago that he had been spending too much energy and thoughts denying that it felt good to sexually touch someone inside the wasteland they had all been condemned to spend their lives in. Alvarez turned out to be his best and most productive partnership inside Oz. That was what it all boiled down to and, the rest of the stuff between them was just a personalized benefits package created from the partnership.

“I don’t want to talk about Calderón or Torquemada or Redding anymore,” Alvarez said in between small kisses. “We can deal with them later.”

“What do you want to talk about, then?” the Irishman asked in an almost breathless way.

“Not them.”

Lips formed together and he felt a hand slip under his shirt and rub on the skin of his stomach and chest. Again, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the attention that was supposed to be forbidden to them in this place. Alvarez’s soul-stealing kisses left him breathless and wanting so much more, but he was never going to beg for it. O’Reily felt a hand slip past the waistband of his pants and straight into his boxers to cup his dick.

He groaned at the sensation and followed the lead as Alvarez walked them backwards while their lips were still connected. His back hit one of the four walls of the room and his instincts told him that he was trapped, but there was no need for alarm or retaliation. O’Reily sucked air into his lungs when the kiss fell apart and watched as the Latino went down in front of him. Their eyes met for a brief second before he went back to work and to where he wanted to end up.

Alvarez lifted up a portion of his shirt and sucked on the skin of his lower abs as his fingers worked in unison to bring the other man’s pants down to his ankles. Only his boxers remained and O’Reily pressed his back against the wall for desperate support as Alvarez gently bit and nibbled on his manhood through the cloth fabric of his boxers. The Irishman bit back a moan, but there was something just too erotic and gratifying about the combination of his warm mouth and the barely dampness of his boxers rubbing against hard dick.

“Looks like you missed this more than you let on,” the Latino said as he looked up and smirked that wicked grin of his.

“Shut up!” he snapped and was slightly embarrassed.

“Do you really want to be talking like that to someone who has their hands and teeth so close to your manhood, Irish? You could end up with a headless dick or only one ball left.”

“Don’t you even dare. If I feel any teeth, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Guess you need to loosen up more,” Alvarez said and laughed. “You carry around too much tension inside you.”

“We’re in goddamn prison. Tension is up the fucking walls.”

“Not for you and me. We got a way to release all that. I’m not down here like this because I’m praying to God, you know. Haven’t been on my knees since my mom dragged me to church as a kid and made me pray.”

“What an appropriate time to bring up God. That isn’t awkward at all,” O’Reily dryly said.

“Got the hint.”

His mouth went back and engulfed O’Reily’s length through his boxers again. His tongue licked and teased the sensitive head without the barrier of clothing being a problem. The Irishman grew to hate the teasing though and pulled his boxers down to expose his already throbbing dick. Alvarez looked up at him and gave a quick smile before he kissed his lower stomach once more and then went down to where his mouth’s attention was demanded.

The Latino maneuvered his mouth and tongue to accommodate the invading member and sucked on it as if he thought he knew what he was doing. Both men had been able to practice throughout the course of the partnership and he had to be doing something right because O’Reily’s hands rested on his head and his body all but begged for more. Any pleasure that could be derived from inside these walls was welcomed from the general deprivation of touch and human affection.

He cupped O’Reily’s balls and played with them between his fingers as he continued to slide his dick deeper into his mouth. Alvarez gently bobbed his head back and forth and created small sound vibrations from deep within his throat to cause even more stimulation to the sensitive head. His throat muscles were still not comfortable taking O’Reily dick all the way down for an extended amount of time. He was only able to suck all of him for a few seconds before he would start to feel his gag reflex kick in.

Alvarez lips vacuumed around his dickhead and his cheeks created a suction motion while he jacked off the base and continued playing with his balls. O’Reily was beginning to feel weak in the knees because his body was going into overdrive from all the attention his dick was receiving. The Latino stopped his suctioning and used his tongue to lap at the underside of his head to illicit a moan or grunt he know O’Reily was trying hard to repress and keep to himself.

“Damn---I feel you pulsing in my mouth. You close?” Alvarez said after he freed his mouth.

“Don’t stop!” he barked out. “Keep going. More.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“No. You know what I want.”

“I know I want to hear the words,” the Latino said in between his tongue wickedly slashing across the head of O’Reily’s dick repeatedly to try to entice the words out of him. “Say the words and it’ll happen.”

“Alvarez, stop it! I’m not going to fucking beg you to suck my dick!” O’Reily snapped and said.

“Not talking about begging, papa. Your hands on my head and your body already say it. You just need to.”

“No.”

Alvarez shot up from his knees to smear their lips together before he broke apart and said, “Say it. Tell me what you want from me.”

“No. Stop teasing me,” the Irishman said and it was obvious that he was hot and bothered.

“No. Come on. It’s not that hard,” he said and grinned.

“Speak for yourself.”

“That’s what you get, then. Say it.”

“Christ, Alvarez! Suck my dick! Suck my dick until I fucking explode! Happy?” he angrily screamed out.

“All you had to do was say it. Don’t close your eyes,” Alvarez said and he kissed him. “Look at me.”

“What?”

“Don’t close your eyes. Look at me while I’m sucking you.”

“Uh---okay,” O’Reily replied and was confused.

He did not know what had suddenly come over him but he wanted O’Reily’s eyes on him while he was on his knees in front of him. His ego was being stroked at the thought of pleasuring the man that so many inmates wanted to touch this way. After so many times saying he was no fag, only to be secretly locked away in a closet and feeling that human contact again. Alvarez was rock hard thinking about it and having his ego stroked in such an erotic way.

“Keep your eyes on mine,” the Latino reminded him.

“Heard you the first time. I got it.”

O’Reily looked down into those vivid brown eyes and almost came when he saw and felt Alvarez’s lips slide past his dickhead and slowly down his rigid shaft. It was one of the most intense feelings, sexual or otherwise, he had ever experienced and his body wanted more. Alvarez took a little more than half his dick inside his mouth and sucked it as he struggled to get his own dick free to pleasure himself.

“Oh God, Alvarez! Don’t fucking stop. Uh-huh---fuck!”

He was sure that he was not going to last much longer because his body was screaming for release. The Latino stared into his green eyes while he sucked and licked on his dick to override all his senses. O’Reily felt some strange semblance of power in the situation they were in. Alvarez was on his knees in front of him and willing to pleasure him to the best of his abilities. He was in control and the gratification to his ego just about matched the gratification his body was receiving.

Their fixation with each other’s eyes did not waver and he resumed his hands on top of Alvarez’s head and easily rocked his hips back and forth to invade his mouth even more. O’Reily gently grabbed either side of his head and guided his dick in and out of his mouth. He was throbbing at the warmth and hotness of Alvarez’s mouth, but also felt lost in his own emotions of lust and desire. O’Reily sped up with his motions and never broke the look with the Latino. He looked so good down there.

“Oh, fuck! I’m cumming! Uhh---” O’Reily spat out.

Alvarez immediately shook his head free and removed his mouth as he jacked O’Reily into that ecstatic moment of pure and unfiltered bliss. Their eyes were no longer connected because the Irishman had closed his eyes to come to terms with the amount of lustful gratification that was coursing through his more than pleasured body. Cum spurted out and landed on the floor close to him as Alvarez continued to pump and look up at him to see his eyes still closed.

His body shook and, for a brief moment, his mind was clear and had nothing to worry about. For a moment, he was not confined to Oz and had the world at his fingertips. Alvarez gave him that clarity that he needed to reorient himself and get his mind and body in sync again. O’Reily had been under so much tension and stress, especially since Torquemada had come out of the hole. Being there like that with the Latino was just what his body needed to let go of some of that pressure so that he could return to the top of his game.

He needed to recover, but still felt Alvarez’s hand stroking his softening dick. O’Reily wanted the fantasy of his escape and rejoining the real world to last longer so he kept his eyes closed and got lost in his thoughts about the outside. Sucking in the sweet air of freedom and indulging in food that had been denied to him for so long. But, as quickly as the fantasy world had made itself known, it was beginning to crumble around his very thoughts.

The Latino stepped up from his knees and pressed their bodies together as he watched O’Reily and his still closed eyes. He wanted returned pleasure but the other man looked so peaceful as he was coming down from his natural high. Alvarez did not want to ruin that, but his dick pleaded with him for attention and ultimately, release. He closed their faces in and kissed the Irishman to get him to open his eyes. He knew his passionate kiss would eventually get the man’s attention.

“That feel good?” Alvarez asked after a few kisses.

“Uh-huh.”

“Good.”

“Shit! Shit,” he said aloud as if something was wrong. “We have to get out of here. We’ve been missing for too long.”

“Really? Now?” the Latino asked and was disappointed because of the situation he found himself in. “Right now?”

“Yes,” O’Reily replied and went to pull up his boxers and pants. “We have to go before someone catches us. It’ll be an automatic trip to the hole for the both of us.”

“Hey! What about me?” Alvarez pouted like a cute little boy because his body wanted the attention now.

“Maybe next time, loco.”

“No maybe about it. You owe me, Irish.”

“We’ll see,” he said and smiled. “See you at work later.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

O’Reily finished adjusting himself and slipped away from the storage room in a hurry because he had to be found already. The more time they spent disappeared together, the easier it would have become to place them together, and that was never going to happen. He rushed down the hallway and towards the cafeteria because his instincts told him that lunch was about to begin. A part of him felt bad for leaving Alvarez the way he did. There was no other choice though, so it had to be left that way for right now.

Most of the afternoon had gone by with uneventful happenings as both their shifts were winding down in the hospital. They had about another hour left on duty before they had to be at dinner and then back to Em City. The routine ingrained into their heads was becoming far too claustrophobic and second nature for any of them to feel comfortable with. O’Reily denied his mind access to certain thoughts about Alvarez. If it was not for the Latino and every aspect of their partnership, good and bad, the dreadful routine would have engulfed and drown him long ago.

He had to face the harsh fact to no part of his mind was off limits to Miguel Alvarez. He was more honest with the man than he had been with his own brother Cyril. He shared all his plans and the intricacies of them with him. No matter how hard he tried to shake them, O’Reily was never able to get rid of those thoughts. And now, he was not sure that he wanted to anymore because they broke up the monotony of the merging days he spent inside the prison.

The Irishman sat on the counter of the back room and stared at the wall on the other side of him as he thought about it all. It was unnerving but comforting---deceptive but truthful. Both of them had come so far from what they had been as solo survivors in the past. There was no doubt that together, he and Alvarez had the most power inside the walls of Oz. O’Reily gleamed at the idea, but it had never been about absolute power to him. It had always been, and would always be, about survival.

“No slacking off, Irish,” Alvarez entered the room and said after he noticed him.

“Hey, I’m doing my job.”

“Staring off into space isn’t doing your job, you know.”

“Well, you’re not the boss,” O’Reily snapped and said.

He moved a little closer and said, “If I were then you definitely wouldn’t have left me the way you did earlier.”

“Get over that, Alvarez.”

“Hey, you two, get back to work,” a new hack neither of them knew tapped on the door with his baton and said.

“Yes, sir, officer,” the Irishman produced a sarcastic salute and said.

He hopped off the counter and exchanged a quick look with Alvarez before he left past the guard and out of the back room. It was suddenly too crowded in there with the new hack rearing his ugly head into their conversation. O’Reily began checking on the patients in the infirmary and got them whatever they requested. Dr. Nathan and the two nurses on shift were having a conversation in her office. The hack past him by and went back to his post at the entrance of the hospital ward.

The shift today was long and he only wanted to take a shower and drop into his bunk and fall asleep. Alvarez was right about him storing too much tension and pressure within himself. Despite the sexual bodily relief and the dangerous overstimulation his ego received earlier, he was still tied up in his own plans and webs of secret plotting and deceit. The Latino passed him by and went to strip the bed of an inmate that Dr. Nathan had only recently discharged. The man really was the best partner he had ever had---both inside and outside of Oz.

Before his accident, he and Cyril had made a dynamic duo, but the partnership with Alvarez had even surpassed that. The sheer amount of actions and deaths that secretly had their hands on them was astounding. Whatever either of them wanted to happen, did. O’Reily stole looks of him from time to time as they both worked on what felt like opposite ends of the infirmary. Their partnership formed into something more than plotting behind the scenes and getting plans done in Oz and had come to mean something to him.

O’Reily walked into the back room when a ruckus outburst shook the hospital. Three hacks rushed in with a man on a stretcher as Dr. Nathan and a nurse quickly made it over to him to begin to assess the situation. Alvarez watched and his lips frowned when he noticed who it was. The Irishman heard raised voices and Dr. Nathan giving orders so he returned outside to see what was happening. Alvarez mainly stayed out of their way and watched as O’Reily came in and saw his father lifelessly lying on the stretcher bed.

“Oh, fuck! Dad! Dad!” he rushed over to Seamus O’Reily’s side and called out. “Can you hear me? Dad!”

“Back off! Let them work,” the same hack from before came and restrained him back with his baton.

“Officers, help me transfer him to the bed,” Dr. Nathan commanded in a firm and controlled tone. “Nurse, get an IV running and ready the kit to take a blood sample.”

“Save him, Gloria! Fucking save his life!”

“I’m going to try, Ryan. Please stay calm. Let him go, officer,” she easily demanded. “This is his father.”

O’Reily watched the hacks transfer his father to a hospital bed and went by it and said, “Dad---dad? What happened? Can you hear me?”

“Nurse---nurse, where is the IV?”

“I’m coming, doctor,” she said.

“Miguel, can you help her with that?”

“Yeah---yeah,” the Latino said and went to retrieve the stand and hooked up the IV pack to it.

“What’s wrong with him, Gloria?”

Seamus O’Reily’s eyes were closed and his chest was not moving as Dr. Nathan’s gloved hands examined him. She spoke to him to try to solicit a response as her fingers explored his chest and neck but nothing came. She flashed a small amount of light into each of his eyes but there was no stimulation from his pupils. O’Reily tightly held on to his father’s hand as he noticed his pale skin, tousled hair, and lifeless animation to his face. It was as if all the life was drained out of him and he knew what that meant but did not want to accept it.

“Why isn’t he breathing? Save him, Gloria!” O’Reily said with charged emotion.

“I feel a faint pulse but it’s weakening. I don’t feel a heartbeat. I don’t feel a heartbeat.”

“Fight, dad! You hear me. Dammit! Fight.”

The nurse rushed the cart past the crowd of people and Dr. Nathan demanded that everyone back away and give them space to work. O’Reily tried to stay but she told him it was going to be okay, so he stepped back and let her work. The machine started to work and the nurse applied the conductive gel onto each surface and quickly handed it off to Dr. Nathan. She rubbed them together and pressed it into Seamus O’Reily’s chest to revive stimulation to his heart via humane shockwaves. It happened again and she announced that she still did not feel a response.

“Increase the intensity,” she ordered. “Let’s go! Come on! Come on.”

O’Reily stood there and was at a complete loss of words as he watched his father lying there with his life essence seeping out of him and evaporating into the very air around them. Dr. Nathan and both nurses continued their efforts as the rest of them looked on. O’Reily felt like a zombie and could not remember the last time he blinked or took a real breath. This was the real reality in his world right now. In the moment, everything else seemed either so insignificant or just not worth it. Alvarez maneuvered through the small crowd, stood next to him, and secretly held their hands together under the cloak of their bodies as they both looked on.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**Ryan O’Reily felt like he** was walking through a dark and clouded maze with no knowledge or indication of time or direction. Something inside him was being pushed beyond its breaking point and it was dangerously close to fully invading him. Cyril’s voice taunted him inside the shrouded maze and the darkness ridiculed him because he was always supposed to be in control. It was his personality type, yet he had seemed to be losing control of himself and his positioning inside Oz over the course of the past months. Maybe it was all in his head---or maybe it was the truth.

In Sister Pete’s office, he silently sat as the nun and Dr. Nathan shared an awkward look between them. He did not feel like talking to them, but she was offering information about Seamus O’Reily. His arms were crossed at his chest and his eyes stared beyond the bars protecting the window to see the grayness outside. The Irishman knew they wanted more from him but it was too painful to think about.

“I’m so sorry, Ryan,” Dr. Nathan said from somewhere close to him.

“What caused it?” was all he simply asked.

“Ryan, now might not be the best time---”

“There is no better time, Gloria. Tell me.”

“He had a brain embolism and suffered from a massive stroke. His vitals were weak when they brought him in.”

“How long was he suffering?” the Irishman asked.

“Not long. Maybe a half an hour before he was brought in. He was still alive when you saw him in the infirmary. Barely, but still alive. But the damage from the stroke had already taken its toll on his brain,” she sadly said.

“You did everything you could?”

“I tried. It was too much for his body to handle.”

“Solitary and the trial wore him down. It’s like he couldn’t fight anymore,” O’Reily said.

“That could be a very real possibility,” Sister Pete said. “Not every prisoner is mentally or emotionally equipped to handle the loneliness of Solitary confinement.”

A beep went off and Dr. Nathan looked at its origin before she said, “I have to go. There’s an emergency in the hospital. We can talk more about this later at work if you want, Ryan.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later then. Bye, Pete.”

“We’ll talk later, Gloria,” she replied before Dr. Nathan left. “We’re alone now, Ryan. So, talk to me.”

He had been lying there in pain and had probably tried to call out for help for half an hour before the hacks finally had brought him in. The idea alone made O’Reily crazy, but he also knew that his father was not at the best health for his age. The stress from the trial and the possibility of being sent to death row had drained him. His father was gone and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about his feelings.

“About what?”

“I can set up some counseling sessions for you,” Sister Pete said.

“No need. I’m good.”

“Ryan---”

“What?” he snapped and said. “I don’t need any goddamn sessions. He’s dead. That’s it. There’s nothing else to talk about.”

“I beg to differ. I really think they can help you deal with the loss of your father. You’re hurting. Just like with Cyril.”

“No!” O’Reily stood up and yelled out. “You don’t get to say that to me. You don’t get to bring him up. Not now.”

“Ryan. Ryan.”

The Irishman stormed out of the office because it was enough. He did not want to hear Cyril’s name right now and was offended that the nun placed Seamus O’Reily in the same place his brother was. The hack outside walked him back to Em City and he knew Sister Pete’s eyes were on him as he left. He did not want to be asked any more questions about his father because he was going to explode in a fit of anger and rage.

In his pod, O’Reily rested on his bed and looked up at the ceiling of the small cage as he waited for the routine of the day to continue. Lunch was going to be soon and then he had to work in the infirmary---the place where his father took his last breaths of life. Oz had claimed someone else from him and he was the last one left to succumb to its inevitable deadly grip. It was only a matter of time before Oz came back for him.

He sent Meaney on a meaningless errand just to have the pod to himself. When he had walked into Em City earlier, he had not noticed Alvarez and a part of him wondered where he was. Talking to the nun or Dr. Nathan was not an option, but he would not be against the idea of talking to Alvarez if they had found themselves alone. Aside from the sexual aspect, they had become friends. Maybe it was something even more than that, but now was not the time to analyze it. O’Reily shot up on the bed and his eyes saw red when he noticed who entered his pod.

“What the hell are you doing here? What do you want?” he angrily said.

“That’s too bad about your father, honey,” Torquemada said in that feminine way of his.

“Fucking call me that one more time,” O’Reily almost demanded.

“Maybe you should take it as a sign.”

“A sign? A sign of what?”

“That we should join forces to rule Oz,” the predatory queen said.

He let out a hearty laugh and then said, “Get the fuck out my face with that shit.”

“Why not? With us as partners, no one would stand a chance.”

“You’re getting desperate, aren’t you, Alonzo?” O’Reily said after he easily read the man in his pod.

“I don’t know what you mean. I will have control over Oz with or without you. I’m simply saying to put your dislike of me aside and see this opportunity for what it is.”

“I don’t need any opportunities from you. I make my own opportunities. Thought you’d have learned that by now.”

O’Reily could easily see past the man’s defenses to know that he was worried about his standing in Em City and the continued relevance of Destiny. It was the reason for this meeting and his proposition of them becoming partners after all. Calderón was making Torquemada nervous and he was trying to gather up everyone he could hold on to as a way of keeping his prominence with the other inmates. O’Reily laughed inside at the stench of desperation.

“Your drug is losing its effect in here. No one is taking you seriously anymore,” the Irishman said.

“That’s not true. Destiny has had a slight setback but will rise to the top again. You can’t be that delusional.”

“I’m not. That’s the reason for this conversation, isn’t it? You may think you’re in control, but that’s just another fairytale in your head.”

“So, is that a no to my extremely generous offer of partnership?” Torquemada said with a face of stone.

“What do you think? It’s not the best opportunity to jump on an already flaming and sinking ship now is it?”

“Was that a hit on my sexuality?”

“Only you think of yourself sexually,” O’Reily dryly said. “I said a fact. Now get out of my pod before we have a real problem.”

“You still let your unimaginative disdain of me cloud your judgment.”

“You don’t know just how unimaginative I can be. Get out.”

Torquemada gave him a small smile and left him alone in the pod a very short while later. O’Reily watched the man walk away across the quad and was uneasy about his apparent desperation to control Em City. There was no way the Irishman would have accepted a deal to work with him and he had to have known that before approaching him to try to get it done. Something was not right because O’Reily felt that instinct in his stomach. The queen had a plan and was up to something.

He paced in his pod long after Torquemada left him alone and wondered what was going on with the man. Even though he had just lost his father only a few days ago, O’Reily knew better than to get his head out of the game because that was what his enemies were waiting for and when they were going to strike against him. Seamus O’Reily had to become a distant memory and he had to refocus on his plans to get natural balance back into every corner of Oz.

Meaney walked into the pod and said, “What was that fag doing in here? I saw you two talking earlier but didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You should have. Being anywhere near that sick bastard creeps me out,” O’Reily stopped his pacing and said.

“What did he say?”

“His usual bullshit. He’s starting to see just how much influence he has in this pisshole.”

“He’s up to something.”

“No shit. Keep an eye on him for me,” he ordered the grunt.

“What am I looking for?” Meaney asked as he looked outside the pod and to the quad.

“Watch him. See who he talks to and what he’s doing. The sooner I figure out what he knows and is up to, the better. Oh, and I don’t need to tell you to keep your distance.”

“Of course not. He won’t know a thing.”

“Good.”

“Let’s see what that cocksucker is planning.”

With that, Meaney disappeared out of the pod to find out all he could about the queen to report back. O’Reily held out very little expectation that the grunt would return with any useful information so he was already devising another plan to get what he needed. He wanted to talk to Alvarez to finalize another plan of theirs, but would have to see if they got a chance to be alone in the hospital later. His father’s death did affect him, though far less than Cyril’s had, but he had to move on and continue to fight to keep himself alive.

The cafeteria buzzed with chatter as inmates gathered their meals and sat in their usual groups. O’Reily sat by himself at a table and munched on an apple as his eyes occasionally darted to another table across the room where Alvarez sat with Vieyra. He was not jealous of the kid, but he still had his reservations about protecting him from Calderón and El Norte. Alvarez caught him looking and their eyes met for a moment before the gaze was broken and each entered their own world again.

“Ryan O’Reily, a word,” the El Norte leader said and broke him out of his thought.

“What is it, Calderón?”

“I realize our paths haven’t crossed much since I’ve been here, but I’ve heard things I consider to be good about you. Can I sit?”

“It’s not my chair,” O’Reily replied with annoyance in his voice. “I’m not interested in small talk.”

“Something we have in common, then,” Calderón said and sat across from him. “You told me during our first encounter that you are a dealmaker. Are your services still on the table?”

“That depends on what services you want.”

“A complete disappearance. Are you interested?”

“Who’s going poof?” he asked and was sure he kept his piqued curiosity hidden.

“Torquemada and Pancamo. It’s about time I end this game.”

“Why come to me with this? You have your El Norte boys you brought in here yourself.”

“Perceptive, aren’t you?”

“I don’t survive in here by keeping my head in the sand,” the Irishman answered. “Why me?”

He caught Calderón glancing over to Alvarez’s table before he averted his eyes back and said, “Your finesse will prove invaluable to me.”

“Only one problem with that. I’m not one of your lackeys. What are you offering for this disappearance? It’s quite a task.”

“I’m a man of my word, Mr. O’Reily. Do what I ask and you will be well rewarded for your services,” the suave warlord said as if the deal was already finalized.

“A man of his word in prison? You know, that has to be some kind of first.”

“I don’t see how. Aren’t you a man of your word? From what I’ve heard, you were fiercely loyal to your brother, Cyril,” Calderón said and tried to get inside his head.

“We’re done talking.” 

O’Reily stood up, grabbed his tray, and walked away because the man was trying to use his dead brother against him. It took a fair amount of restraint for him not to punch Calderón in the face for his backhanded comment, but now was not the time to be thrown in the cage. He dropped the rest of his uneaten lunch into the trash and walked to the gates to wait until they were released. Cyril’s memory had been tainted by coming out of that fuck’s mouth and attempted to be used as a bargaining chip.

Regardless of his poor manipulation skills, the El Norte leader did make him an interesting proposition that he could pursue if he wanted to. And, O’Reily knew the man was going to pay big for getting Torquemada and Pancamo out of his way. He really had to talk to Alvarez and come up with another plan because Calderón was ready to make moves. And it was apparent from his glances earlier that the loco Latino and Gio Vieyra were of interest to him as well.

Later in the hospital, he felt tightness in his stomach as he passed the bed that his father was pronounced dead on by Dr. Nathan. A few days had passed and although he knew Seamus O’Reily was gone, a part of him still felt like the old man was just locked away in Solitary. O’Reily banished the thoughts from his mind and concentrated on what he had to do to keep himself alive because everything was coming to a boiling climax.

Dr. Nathan had tried to get him to talk on several occasions but he had turned her down each time. He was in no mood to talk about the loss because he had to move on from it and get back to his survival instinct. O’Reily went to the back room and noticed he was alone, so he got to work while his mind was spinning new plots and devices now that El Cartel had formally made him an offer. He turned around when he realized he was no longer alone.

“You all right?” Miguel Alvarez asked as he came in and started rifling through various cupboards.

“Don’t I look all right?” he snapped in an irritated way. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because your dad died a few days ago.”

“It’s not like we were close. And I’m not a fucking baby.”

“Never said you were. But---still.”

“Stop, Alvarez,” O’Reily warned. “We have more important things to talk about.”

“I know. You have someone in mind to trash the telemarketing room?”

“Some of the new bikers that came into Em City a few weeks ago. I haven’t talked to them yet.”

“The sooner we get this plan going the better,” Alvarez said when he looked at him.

“I saw you with the kid in lunch today.”

“And I saw you with Calderón. What did he want?”

A hack came in to make sure they were doing their job so they both stopped talking and gave the illusion that they were busy. The nurse was dealing with a few cranky inmates and Dr. Nathan was in her office filtering through a mound of paperwork and taking phone calls. He eyed them both but eventually returned to his post at the entrance of the hospital ward. O’Reily walked deeper into the room in hopes that it would grant them more privacy.

“You want me to come over there and keep you company?” the Latino smirked that grin of his and said.

“Stop fooling around, loco. Calderón is ready to make moves.”

“That’s what he said to you?”

O’Reily quickly glanced around before he said, “He wants me to airhole Torquemada and Pancamo.”

“What? I get Torquemada, but why Pancamo?”

“Don’t know. Looks like he wants Destiny out as much as we do and wants to cover all his bases.”

“What’d you tell him?” Alvarez got slightly closer and asked.

“He started talking shit about Cyril so I left. That cocksucker actually tried to manipulate me through him. He doesn’t know who he’s fucking around with.”

“Clearly. This is good, though. Let him think you’re still thinking over the proposition for as long as you can. It’ll buy us more time.”

“That’s exactly what I thought. I mean I didn’t tell him yes---but I didn’t tell him no, either,” the Irishman said and was sometimes still amazed how much he and Alvarez thought alike. “If he thinks I’m on his side then we could use that to our advantage.”

“Look at you, víbora. Fucking with El Cartel. This could change things in here,” he said.

“I know. Let’s put him and his deal aside for right now and focus on getting Redding and the niggers back in the tit game,” O’Reily said, with the plan churning inside his head.

“Talk to the bikers so this can happen as soon as possible. What are you going to offer as incentive?”

“Look around you, Miguel. Prescription drugs. I’ll offer a week’s supply for getting the job done. Think they’ll bite?”

“Those drugheads will have no choice but to fall into our plan to get their fix. The promise of drugs makes anyone in here do dumb shit to get it,” Alvarez said and nodded to silently agree to the terms of their plan.

“I’ll let you know what happens with the bikers.”

“I’ll keep an eye on Calderón and make sure he doesn’t catch on.”

“All right.”

The Latino headed out the door but stopped at the frame and said, “Hey, Ryan, I am sorry about your dad.”

His expressive brown eyes felt like they were looking through him and O’Reily became uncomfortable but the feeling passed when Alvarez left the room. From everyone that had tried talking to him about his father, Alvarez was the closest one he would want to talk to about it. But, there was no time for that since he had to manipulate the bikers into doing their plan as well as watch himself since he was on El Cartel’s radar now. The look in Alvarez’s eyes said more than enough, though.

A few days had passed and O’Reily was summoned for a meeting with his father’s lawyer. He waited in the interview room for the man to show up and wondered what else he had to tell him. He had given consent to have his father’s body cremated so Seamus O’Reily left Oz as ashes. When the time came, he himself was going to be leaving these walls the same way. There was no freedom from his sentence. Oz was a part of him for the rest of his life.

Bryan Rockford walked in and he was surprised to see his mother with him. O’Reily walked over and embraced Suzanne Fitzgerald because he was so happy to see her. Since Cyril was gone and Querns had taken away the arts program, he had missed his mother even more. She smelled like the outside and her body felt so warm against his. O’Reily did not know why he was acting as needy as he was, but she was his only direct living family member left.

“How are you, Ryan?” she cupped his face after they released one another and said.

“Good. What are you doing here?”

“I came to visit my son.”

“But why here? With dad’s lawyer?” the Irishman questioned.

“Thought it would be a nice surprise. I know you two weren’t close, but he was still your father. I know his death has brought up Cyril for you all over again,” Fitzgerald said and the three of them sat at the table.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Ryan,” Rockford said as he placed his briefcase on the table.

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied indifferently. “Why do you want to see me?”

“Well, I came to offer my condolences. Also to tell you that the state has formally dropped its case against your father.”

“Seeing as he’s dead, I’d assume as much. The state can’t prosecute a dead man,” he angrily said.

“Relax, Ryan,” his mother gently told him. “Mr. Rockford did all he could for your father.”

“I am legally bound to tell you that the case has been dropped,” the lawyer said. “Plus, I have some papers for you to sign.”

“Me?” O’Reily said. “What papers?”

“Some legal documents so that the courts can file your father’s case.”

“To be just another number, huh?”

His mom gave him a warm smile as Rockford slid a small stack of paperwork across the table for him to review and sign. As his father’s closest living relation, O’Reily’s hand was forced in the situation so he had to take charge and just do it. The documents had his father’s name in black against white and some of them even had his messy signature. Ryan O’Reily ran one of his index fingers across the black ink of his father’s signature and he knew both Rockford and his mother were looking at him.

After signing the papers, a realization struck the most sensitive spot of his brain. The rest of his life was condemned to the pods and hallways of Oz. Once he was gone, there was going to be no one to carry on the O’Reily name---his family name. He could not escape this hell to have a kid to carry on his bloodline even if he wanted to. It hit him like a bullet that he was the last and could do nothing to keep the O’Reily name from withering and disappearing.

“What would the outcome have been?” the Irishman broke up the silence and asked. “In your professional opinion, what would the outcome of my dad’s trial have been?”

“Ryan, don’t do that,” Fitzgerald said. “Don’t go down that road.”

“I have to know, ma.”

“I don’t think that matters much now,” Rockford said as he slipped the documents into various files and folders. “It would be mainly conjecture on my part, anyway.”

“Tell me.”

“I think he would’ve been found guilty. Most of the members of the jury have accepted the death penalty as a part of the justice system.”

“So, he would have ended up dead anyway,” O’Reily said what he knew they were all thinking.

“We could’ve appealed the ruling. It would not have been the end.”

“A hell of a lot it would’ve done. Appeals didn’t do shit for my brother. The only difference is that my dad didn’t have his life taken by the state.”

“Ryan---” his mother said.

“Way to screw over the state, old man.”

The lawyer left shortly after all the paperwork was completed and O’Reily was left to have a short visit with his mother. Her warmth and comfort made him feel safe and loved, just as it did when she had been doing her community service in Oz. She, Cyril, and him really had been a family inside this cesspool, but it never lasted. Querns’s ban on the prisoners’ free time drove him crazy since he could no longer spend time with her.

The next day in his pod, Meaney still had not found out much from watching Torquemada. O’Reily could see in El Cartel’s eyes and body language that the warlord was impatient to make his move against the fag. He sent the grunt on another errand just to get rid of him. Alvarez sat alone in the quad playing cards and kept to himself. Their planning had become very precarious and he knew the Latino was worried. They both were about the future.

Just then, he saw two bikers heading into the shower room. He was suddenly in his approach. He slinked out of his pod and caught Alvarez’s eyes for a second as he crossed the quad to get to the showers. El Cartel was in his pod reading and Torquemada and Pancamo were in the classroom upstairs talking. O’Reily entered the showers to the sound of running water and the two men immediately looked back to see who had entered.

“Hey, boys,” he greeted them both in that confident way of his.

“Got no time for you, O’Reily,” the bigger one, named Moss, said. “Get lost.”

“You got some balls approaching us, cocksucker,” the more muscular one, Dawson, said.

“Now, now, fellas. I’ve come with a business opportunity I’m sure you’ll find too good to pass on.”

“We’ll manage,” Dawson said. “Your deals only benefit you.”

O’Reily gazed up and down both their naked frames and said, “How are those withdrawal symptoms coming? I heard about the outburst during Sister Pete’s drug counseling session the other day.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Moss grunted.

“Just to ease your withdrawals and help you adjust into prison life.”

“We don’t need any help with that. And especially from the likes of you,” Dawson said.

“You know, I don’t know where all this distrust of me comes from,” the Irishman said and had to restrain himself from laughing.

“Don’t play dumb, you green motherfucker,” Dawson said. “Get on.”

“So, you’re not interested in my drug trade?”

“Drug trade? What drug trade?” Moss asked as he soaped his inner thighs and dick.

“You do a tiny favor for me and I’ll make sure you get your fix for a week.”

“What are we talking about here?” Dawson asked and suddenly did not seem as icy as before.

“Anything you want from the hospital. For one week.”

O’Reily looked at the two stupid fucks with his game face on so as not to give anything away he did not want to. They may have had peanuts for brains, but something about being in jail heightened peoples’ senses so it was better to be safe. He watched as the two bikers looked at each other because they were considering the offer. His elbows pressed on top of the half wall separating the showers from the sinks as he looked on.

Moss was a tall and bigger man with a gut and a huge tattoo of a skull and snake on his back along with various other ones across other parts of his body. His chest, arms, legs, and ass were hairy and he had a ponytail protected by a shower cap. He would only seem intimidating to the untrained eye but O’Reily knew better. Moss obviously did not have the last say in plans or actions because of how he listened to Dawson.

Dawson was a bit shorter than the other biker was and had a more defined body build. He surprisingly had only a few tattoos and sported a short haircut. His body had little hair, with the exception of his forearms, under his arms, his legs, and his pubes. O’Reily did not mean to look but he glanced down and noticed that Dawson’s dick looked semi hard and was big. He mentally shook his brain and got back to his manipulations because it could no longer wait. He had to use these two bikers to get the plan in motion before Calderón started making moves of his own.

“Prescription drugs, huh?” Dawson said as he softly stroked his chin. “What---little favor do we have to do to get this treatment?”

“Simple,” O’Reily devilishly grinned and said. “Destroy the telemarketing room. Leave it not worthy of repairing.”

“That’s a damn big favor, O’Reily,” Moss said.

“So is the reward for doing it. We got a deal?”

“One week does seem mighty small,” Dawson said as if it were a negotiation. “Add another and you got yourself a deal.”

“No. The deal is one week’s worth of pills for a disaster in the telemarketing room. There’s no other deal. Take it or I find someone else,” the Irishman said and played hardball.

Both men looked at each other for a while before Dawson replied with, “Deal. One week for a trashed room.”

“Don’t you fucking go back on your word, O’Reily,” Moss warned as if it meant something.

“Don’t worry, boys. I’m a man of my word---contrary to popular belief.”

“I’m sure you are,” Dawson sarcastically quipped. “When do you want this done?”

“Yesterday. So get on it,” O’Reily said.

“Front us the first day and we’ll see. That might take away all these nerves and butterflies me and my partner here are having,” Dawson said. “Getting our fix should clear that right up.”

“Done.”

He turned his back to the bikers and left out of the shower room with an inward smile on his lips. Now was the time for him and Alvarez to preempt the coming war so that it would turn out in their favor. Dawson and Moss were not convincing as negotiators because of how easily they consented to the original agreement. O’Reily was actually desperate enough to get the job done to agree to their terms of two weeks, but they were too easily mind-fucked and taken advantage of for him to take them seriously.

On his way back to the pod, the Irishman met with Alvarez’s eyes and nonchalantly nodded to signify that their plan had taken flight. It was weird because he knew he would always be independent, but he really thought of himself and Alvarez as a true team. O’Reily knew he could survive just as he always had by himself again, but he did not want to go back to that. Having someone he knew he could trust was too tempting an offer to pass up. The partnership with the loco Latino had come to mean so much to him.

 

**Em City had** been in lockdown for the past two days because of the destruction that had taken place in the telemarketing room. Phones had been ripped out of the walls and bleach and water had been poured everywhere. The computers were destroyed and the room looked like a powerful hurricane had passed through it and had spared nothing. The two bikers had made sure to give Querns no choice but to shut down the telemarketing call center permanently.

During the entire lockdown, Torquemada had been trying to convince Miguel Alvarez to join him again so that they could rule Oz together. He was tired of hearing the man talk and trying to put his hands and lips on him. Alvarez had kept his cool the entire time and had just brushed off the queen though because being sent to the cage or the hole for bad behavior was not an option. He and O’Reily had to make sure all their plans were on track so that everything would remain on their terms.

On the morning of the third day, a frustrated Querns had come to end the banishment because neither he nor any of the hacks had any suspects in the vandalism. The Latino felt an ironic sense of freedom once they had been let out of the pods because Torquemada’s voice and his advances had become too irritating. Alvarez welcomed the new abundance of space because he had felt his claustrophobia starting to act up being locked away like that. It was something he was not sure he could ever gain complete control over.

The day quickly settled back into its routine but something was gnawing inside Alvarez. The lockdown had forced him to think about it more than he wanted to and now he felt like he had to talk to someone about it. He went to Murphy at the guard tower and soon left Em City and towards the cafeteria. At the time, it had felt like the right thing to do, but it had been bothering him since then.

The cafeteria was quiet at this time because it was in between breakfast and lunch. Father Mukada sat on the stage and waited for him to approach. The hack stood by the gate to guarantee them some semblance of privacy. Alvarez walked up and saw the priest giving him a warm smile. He got on the stage and sat on the chair behind Father Mukada so that they were each facing away and could not see the other. His forearms rested on his legs and he leaned back to try to gather up the words.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Alvarez sucked in his breath and said but then stopped.

Sensing his trouble, Father Mukada calmly said, “Whenever you’re ready, Miguel.”

“Give me a minute,” he said back as he looked forward to the wall.

“Maybe you’re not ready to confess. Don’t force it if it’s not there yet.”

“I have to. I have to do it.”

“Okay. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I---I made someone believe that they had power and control over me, but I was in complete control the whole time.”

“Was this done intentionally?” the priest asked as his head slightly turned back to look over his shoulder.

“Yes. I lied to convince him otherwise. My cousin.”

He just lied to a priest. In confessional, he just lied to Father Mukada. Alvarez was talking about his last sexual encounter with his partner Ryan O’Reily. He had allowed himself to be controlled by the Irishman when he had gotten down on his knees to suck his dick, but Alvarez had always been in control. He had never lost it and the small lie to O’Reily started to make him feel guilty, as if he had betrayed his partner. It was never supposed to be this deep.

He wanted O’Reily to feel like he had power again because he was so emotionally distraught about being fucked. So, to try to balance all that raw emotion out, Alvarez had seemingly given him some power over him in that moment he was on his knees. As much as he hated it, he had done it so that O’Reily could feel even a little better about what had happened between them.

Him getting fucked had psychologically taken its toll on him. It had to have been hard for someone who made sure every inmate knew that he was straight to have allowed that to happen to him. Sucking each other’s dicks was one thing because there was no penetration involved in that. It had first started as an act of trust at the very beginning of a partnership. Then, it had become about the two of them getting their rocks off together. But now, it had become so much more than all of that.

“I need absolution,” the Latino said. “I can’t get away from the deception.”

“You know the true way to absolution, Miguel. What we’re doing here is only the first step. You have to be honest in your confession and vow never to do it again.”

“I---I can’t guarantee that I won’t continue doing it. I kind of have to keep doing it.”

“Keep lying to your cousin?” Father Mukada said. “Why? Why did you lie about power and control in the first place?”

“I can’t say,” Alvarez said to keep his reasons protected. 

“Miguel, it sounds like you have made up your mind about this,” he again looked over his shoulder and said. “Confession will not work if you are not willing to fully open yourself up and do away the thing that brought you here in the first place.”

“Look, Father, I feel guilty and I need you to help me with that. It’s why I came to confession. I didn’t want to lie, but I had no choice.”

“I’d like to think you and I have a more profound relationship, Miguel. In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to give someone any kind of control of you willingly. You bad relations with every past leader of El Norte prove that,” the priest said. “What’s really going on here?”

“Nothing. Nothing. You have to help me get rid of the guilt.”

“Like I told you before, if you wish to continue with this deception, I cannot offer you absolution.”

“So, you’re saying me coming here was worthless?” Alvarez looked back and said.

“No---no, Miguel. Just confessing alone will help you deal with your guilt. But beyond that, there really isn’t much more I can offer you.”

“Okay, Padre,” he said as he got up to leave.

Father Mukada turned around to look at him and said, “Wait, Miguel. I’ve seen a positive change in you over the past months. You have mainly stayed out of trouble and have been making real progress in here. I don’t want to see you go back. If this guilt bothers you so much, it will only become worse if you do not find a way to deal with it.”

“I know. That’s why I came here.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you more.”

“All I know is that I was supposed to be honest but I wasn’t,” he said and then got off the stage.

The priest’s eyes were on him as he walked the length of the cafeteria to be returned back to Em City. It felt good to get it off his chest, but what he really wanted to happen did not. Alvarez wanted to feel some relief for knowingly misleading O’Reily on two very specific occasions. He blamed himself more than he could Father Mukada for not being able to get rid of his guilt. The gate clanked open and the hack followed him out to take him back.

They were supposed to be honest with each other because their partnership demanded it---no matter that they were in prison. Any doubt or suspicion casted on the partnership could easily dismantle it. Alvarez fought with the truth inside himself and just needed a moment to think about what his next move with O’Reily was going to be. Unfortunately, when he returned to Em City and his pod, Torquemada was there having a discussion with Pancamo. He opened the door and both men immediately looked at him as if he was intruding.

“Well if it isn’t our traitor,” Pancamo spat with revulsion heavy in his tone. “Haven’t seen much of you, Alvarez. What are you up to?”

“Fuck you, Pancamo,” the Latino said. “I ain’t no traitor.”

“Now, now, Chucky---calm down. Miguel didn’t betray us. He just went his own way. Remember, he went to the hole from that surprise shakedown just as I did.”

“That don’t mean shit. Make excuses for him. I know you got some sick obsession with him.”

“You jealous, juicehead?”

“In your fucking dreams, spic,” the muscled Italian replied.

“Go, Chucky. We’ll finish this later,” Torquemada said and looked at him. “Just go.”

“Yeah. You heard your boss, Chucky. Step out,” Alvarez spitefully chided and smirked.

“Stop, Miguel,” the queen said as Pancamo left the pod.

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,”

“But it’s what you want to. It’s what you’ve wanted since you came here,” Alvarez spared no emotion when he said.

He moved passed the queen and went to his bed, with the entire conversation earlier with Father Mukada still inside his brain. There really was no privacy in the godforsaken hellhole they were all trapped in. The Latino plopped down on his bed and closed his eyes as if he was trying to wish himself alone. In the darkness shrouding his eyes, he saw himself on his knees in front of O’Reily. His skin shuddered at his inner struggle but also because of something else.

“Get your hand off me,” he quickly opened his eyes and jerked back as he fiercely warned.

“Think of all the good times we had in this pod, sugar,” Torquemada retracted his fingers and countered with. “We could have all that and more again.”

“I told you about that fucking shit. Back up.”

The queen turned his back to him and said, “You know, Chucky wants to take you out.”

“He’s welcome to try. So are you.”

“I told him no. I couldn’t stand it if anything bad ever happening to you, honey,” he horribly overacted. “Of course, if you keep pushing me away as you are now, I might be inclined to change my mind about Chucky’s proposition.”

“The last thing I need is your protection. Your threats are weak and useless, just like you,” Alvarez easily said.

“Please, Miguel, I don’t want to fight with you. I want you to come back to my side. I know Calderón is starting to make moves.”

“What’s that got to do with me? I don’t got shit to do with El Norte.”

“I know. I need for you---for us to be the team we were before. Help me spread Destiny back into the veins of Oz again. I want you back. I want you to be my king again.”

“Stop it with that bullshit,” he snapped and said. “I told you I’m never coming back. I’m fucking solo in here.”

“But we could be great again.”

“We were never great. You used your drugs to control me for a little while and it worked. Not anymore, though. We ain’t nothing more than podmates. You got that?”

“But, Miguel,” Torquemada started to say.

“No---hell no! Don’t approach me with this bullshit again or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“I know we haven’t been on the same page for some time now, Miguel, but I don’t know where all this built up animosity you have towards me comes from. It truly does frighten me,” the queen said with a sad look on his face. “I’ve only ever wanted to be you partner. I’ve only ever wanted to cherish you. I don’t know what I’ve done to you to deserve your hatred.”

Alvarez did not respond but instead averted his eyes to peer down at the quad. The man sounded desperate to find out any information on EL Cartel he could because he knew the warlord was starting to make moves. He did not feel pity for Torquemada, but he understood the man’s suspicions about Calderón because O’Reily had already validated that he was plotting moves. He was not in that though, so he had no place saying anything to the sneaky queen.

It was just made clear that both Torquemada and Pancamo were worried about EL Cartel and his plans. Alvarez closed his eyes again to put away all of his emotions concerning lying to O’Reily because now was not the appropriate time to be reconsidering them. The queen’s eyes finally shifted away from him and he went up to his bed. From the look of Pancamo’s face earlier, he was positive that they two of them were plotting something as well. Torquemada was not stupid and was very well aware of his surroundings. Destiny was not his only card to be played.

A few days later and Alvarez was told that he had a visitor waiting for him. The hacks did not tell him who it was when he asked. The tension inside Em City could be felt in the air and throughout the hallways and walls as he walked to the visitor’s room. O’Reily was still managing to give the run around to Calderón, but it was more than obvious that the man was out for blood. Something was going to happen sooner rather than later and they both had to be prepared to deal with it.

“What?” the Latino said when he entered the visitor’s room. “What are you doing here, ma?”

“I came to see my son. What else does it look like?” his mother Carmen said with a small smile that gave little away. “Sit.”

“What’s going on? What’s up with the visit?” he said as he did.

“You’re so suspicious, Miguelito.”

“It comes with the territory in here. What do you want? Something happened?”

“Just wanted to see you. You look good, son,” she said after their eyes met.

“Ma, what’s going on?” Alvarez asked because he was not buying her reasons.

“Stop it!” Carmen snapped. “You have no reason to be suspicious of me. I am your mother. Do I need a reason to visit you other than you’re my son?”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. It’s good to see you, ma,” he said as he held her hand. “You look great. You lose some weight?”

“My doctor told me to start eating better so I’ve been trying to. It gets hard sometimes.”

“I can see. What else did the doctor say?”

“Take it easy. He says my blood pressure went up because of stress.”

“Why are you stressed, ma?” Alvarez firmly asked her because there was a reason she was here. “What’s got you stressed out?”

Carmen had an unreadable expression plastered over her face and she uncharacteristically remained quiet for a while. He asked her again, but it looked like she was thinking of what her next response should be. Alvarez was getting tired of the game and just wanted to shake her to get the answers out of her. The silence at the table dragged on until his mother’s mind settled on the proper answer to address her son with.

“Bills, Miguelito. The house and the car and everything else,” she said. “Everything’s piling up on me. I can’t do it on my own for much longer.”

“Are you default on anything?” he took away his hand and said.

“No---not yet. I’m barely making monthly payments right now.”

“Sounds like you need another job. If you lose the house, where will you live? Don’t default on the house.”

“You know, you could help me with that,” Carmen said with a glint in her eyes.

“How can I help you, ma? You forget where I am?” Alvarez replied and did not know what she meant.

“You’re still playing it that way then? Lying to your own mother.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The money, Miguel. The goddamn inheritance you received from one of the fucks in here,” his mother almost yelled at him with anger in her eyes. “You still want to play stupid, son?”

“What the fuck? Who told you about that? How do you know about that?” Alvarez wanted to yell back but remained as calm as he could when he asked.

“So it’s fucking true. Some bastard died in here and left you all his shit.”

“Ma, I won’t ask you again. How the fuck did you find out about that? Tell me right now.”

No one was supposed to know anything about what had happened after Wolfgang Cutler’s death and then after his wife had met her end because of the hit ordered by Schillinger. Aside from McManus and O’Reily, none of the other inmates knew that he had inherited all of Cutler’s possessions once again. Alvarez stared at his mother from across the table as he waited for his answer. He was upset and slightly hurt that she chose this way to bring up that she knew about the money. Her sudden visit made sense in his mind now.

“Does it matter? Some fool leaves you money and you don’t even offer to give your one and only mother any of it? Hell, you don’t even tell me about it?” Carmen said and was more furious than she was hurt.

“Why would I do that? None of it belongs to you. You didn’t need to know shit.”

“I know about the money.”

“That don’t matter. You’re not getting any of it. Your sudden visit makes so much more sense now, ma,” he resentfully said. “You saw money and you came running.”

“How can you talk to me this way?”

“You came here for money and nothing else. I don’t see you for months and then, all of a sudden, you show up. I knew something was going on. Who told you about the money? Tell me or this visit’s over.”

Carmen glared at him before she said, “No. The point is I know and I want you to give me some of it. I’m your mother. I deserve some of that money.”

“What can you do to make me? I’m not a fucking kid anymore. See you in another couple months, ma” Alvarez scornfully said after he got up to leave. “Or, just don’t bother coming.”

“Miguel, I’m not done with you. Come back here,” she stood up at the table and tried to reprimand him. “Wake up. You’re never getting out of this fucking place! That money’s going to rot in the goddamn bank!”

“You---you don’t think I’m going to get out?” he stopped, looked back, and asked because the words pierced through the middle of his heart.

“No. I’ve had to accept that fact as your mother. You’re tied to Oz for the rest of your life, son.”

“Fuck you! Better that money rot in the bank than in your hands.”

“Miguel---Miguel, don’t you walk away from me!” Carmen yelled through the visitation room at her son. “What about me?”

The Latino did not even bother to look back when he replied, “You’re a tough bitch. Like you’ve told me all my life. You’ll figure it out. We’re done.”

His mother had no faith in him or in his chances of getting out of Oz and reforming his life in a positive way. Her words hurt him far more than he was willing to admit or acknowledge. Alvarez stormed out of the visitation room and just walked because he could not think clearly. Somehow, his mother had found out about the money. He was still unclear whether she knew how much he had inherited or if she knew about the house and vehicles as well. Carmen was only interested in the money and nothing else.

Back in his pod and alone, Alvarez kicked the hard glass wall of the pod in a fit of unbridled rage and anger. They had not always had the closest relationship, but he always thought that his mother believed that he would get out one day to start living his life again. Carmen’s words burned like lava scorching against his skin and seeping deep into his veins. She had given up on him and had only come to siphon money from him.

He went and sat on his bed because the room was starting to spin and he was getting what felt like a strong headache. The Latino rested on his bed and put his head against the lumpy pillow to try to get the pod to stop moving around him. Still, he had to know how his mother had found out about the money. Someone else had to have known something. Someone on the outside had to have somehow found out and told his mother. Alvarez closed his eyes in hopes that the pounding in his head would stop.

Days later and he was slipping away from the crowd to get to where he had to be. No hacks saw him when he followed the set path to the closet off the AIDS ward. Alvarez paced in the room as he waited and was thinking about what their next move should be. He had to wait for O’Reily to see what he had to say before they could do anything. Torquemada, Pancamo, and Calderón were all ready for a fight and plotting to mold Oz within their own vision. The door slowly creaked and a body stealthily entered the secret space.

“Hey, Miguel,” the Irishman said as he gulped down air.

“Just ran a marathon, Irish?” he questioned.

“Funny. Thought I saw a hack in the hallway. Had to---had to be safe.”

“Catch your breath.”

O’Reily took a few moments for his breathing to return to normal before he said, “Okay. We got to make moves, loco. I got some good news.”

“What?”

“Redding officially got back into the tit trade this morning. The homeboys are back slinging on his orders. I saw Poet pushing behind the column.”

“Oh shit,” Alvarez said and was happy with the news. “Well, seeing as we got rid of his only other option, he was smart to get back to what he knows, you know? Come on, let’s sit and talk.”

Both men walked over to the corner of the room furthest away from the door and sat down to begin planning their next moves on how to make sure the impending war was going to turn out in their favor. They sat next to each other and their forearms touched at times. The momentary warmth reminded Alvarez why this partnership was important to him. It also reminded him that he had lied to O’Reily and had attempted to deceive himself in the process.

“Torquemada’s getting antsy. He wants Calderón gone,” the Latino said. “He’s desperate and he’s making mistakes.”

“Maybe Calderón will take advantage of one of those mistakes and then it’ll be good riddance to that fucking fag.”

“With the niggers back in rotation, that guarantees that Torquemada or Calderón will not get control of the drug game.”

“Destiny is fucking dead,” O’Reily looked over at him and said the sweet words. “There are about the same number of Latinos to homeboys. I have no doubt that Calderón and Redding will talk partnership---if they haven’t already. If this happens then Torquemada will be dead in the water. Don’t you see?”

“We have to make this partnership happen between them. This way, they’ll keep each other from becoming too powerful. They’ll keep each other in check.”

“Exactly. The spics and the niggers have the most numbers in here right now. Everything will balance out this way.”

“What about Pancamo? We can’t underestimate him and the dagos,” Alvarez brought up the wild card.

“Fuck! I completely forgot about that goddamn juicehead Chucky.”

“He’s still partnering with Torquemada, like I told you a few days ago. Remember, they were plotting in my pod.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said and stared forward because he was thinking.

“With the Italians backing him, he could ditch Torquemada and partner with Calderón and Redding. They’d split the tit trade three ways.”

“I don’t think he has enough men to hang with the spics or niggers. The wops aren’t that big anymore. It only looked like that because he and Torquemada were working together,” O’Reily said. “Either way, we need to get rid of that factor.”

“Torquemada went out of his way the other day to tell me that Pancamo wants me dead.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Figured I’d get scared and join back up with him,” the Latino said and smiled a little.

“Then that fag must not know you at all.”

Alvarez remained quiet at the words and stared at the wall they were sitting across from. He thought about the conversation he had with Father Mukada and wondered if it was the right thing to tell his partner the truth. There was also something else he wanted to clear up with O’Reily before it got lost forever between them. If his stare were any more concentrated and intense, it would have bored two holes through the thick wall. There were so many things to be considered. He felt a forearm subconsciously brush against his.

“How long do we have to keep watching the kid?” the Irishman said into the silence.

“Huh? What?”

“Vieyra. Hey---where are you?” he asked, noticing the slightly lost expression on Alvarez’s face.

“Until Calderón backs off and leaves him alone. I won’t let him throw his life away in El Norte. I made a promise,” Alvarez regained himself and said.

“Okay, okay. That could take a long time. Calderón doesn’t look like the giving up type.”

“So be it,” he grimly replied.

“Alvarez, what’s wrong? Your mood changed,” O’Reily noticed and then realized that the Latino was staring directly at him. “Why are you staring at me?”

“I---I lied to you.”

“About what?” he asked and his body language immediately began to change.

“I don’t want to get fucked. I don’t.”

“Why’d you say it, then? Why’d you ask me if I wanted to do it?” O’Reily glared at him and said.

“I don’t know,” Alvarez uncomfortably said. “You were fucking freaking out and I wanted to calm you down, you know?”

“By lying to me? By making an offer you had no intention of keeping?”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” he honestly said. “I just had to calm you down. You were making a really big deal about it and---”

“It is a fucking big deal, Alvarez! I got fucked. You fucked me. Something I never ever wanted to happen did! Don’t you fucking get that?”

“Don’t get mad. I’m sorry. I know it’s a big deal. I---I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Just like you didn’t mean your offer?”

“Ryan---”

“Just forget it. You have no goddamn idea.”

The Latino wanted to say something but instead remained quiet and he felt O’Reily get up from next to him and walk over to the other side of the room. He hung his head to the floor and closed his eyes as Father Mukada’s words once again played inside his mind. He wanted to look O’Reily in the eyes and really say sorry, but he was unable to at the moment. Alvarez had to make something abundantly clear so that there was no confusion about it, though.

“What happened doesn’t change anything between us. You know, we still equal partners,” he looked up and across the room and said.

“Something you feel you have to say? Because you weren’t the one with a dick in your ass,” O’Reily did not look at him when he said.

“No. Have to say the truth. We were both drugged out of our minds.”

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“I know.”

“I’m going,” O’Reily said out of nowhere.

“Hey---hey. Wait,” Alvarez said as he jumped up from the ground.

He rushed over to stop the Irishman from leaving like this. As he held on to his wrist to prevent him from leaving, O’Reily easily jerked it away. Alvarez rested both of his hands on his partner’s waist and moved in to connect their lips together. It just felt like the right thing to do and, what was more surprising was that O’Reily was not fighting back the intimacy. They had to quickly recover from this and get back to plotting out the war to guarantee their survival.

“You’re too fucking good at that,” O’Reily said under his breath after he pulled away. “I hate it.”

“We’re okay? I mean---the partnership’s okay?” the Latino caught himself and said.

“I have to be. We can’t afford to make any mistakes right now.”

“Yeah. Time to get back.”

“Lie to me again and I’ll fucking kill you without leaving a goddamn mark,” he said with no emotion.

“There’s the Ryan O’Reily I know,” Alvarez replied and laughed a little.

Some part of him felt better knowing that there was no expectation upon him to get fucked and he was happy about that. O’Reily had already slipped away to get back to Em City and he was waiting for his turn to return to Oz. And, although he laughed at O’Reily’s threat earlier, Alvarez knew better than to not take his partner seriously. Inside the walls of Oz, trust was an impossible thing to build and an extremely brittle thing to break. The Latino knew he was safe, but also knew that lying was a mistake.

The following day and Alvarez was sitting across the table from Gio Vieyra in the quad and playing cards. The kid did not look as green as he once did and that meant that his profile with the other inmates was slowly being lowered. More of them knew that Alvarez was on his side, so he was generally left alone. Vieyra did not go looking for trouble and had mostly avoided any situation where trouble was brewing. It would take a lot more than that to get El Cartel uninterested in him, though.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Latino saw Torquemada strangely alone. Pancamo was nowhere to be seen. He also saw Poet slinging tits under the stairs and laughing that dumb laugh of his. He noticed O’Reily from across the room looking at the same thing he just saw. Alvarez smiled but cut his eyes away when he saw Calderón and Redding talking in front of the laundry room. Both men looked like they were in an intense conversation.

A part of him began to feel sorry for Torquemada. Even with his combined forces with Pancamo and the wops, they would never stand a chance against El Cartel and the niggers. And the queen had been slipping up and making common mistakes, so his nerves were obviously rattled. But, he brought all this upon himself for wanting to gain control of Em City. His Destiny had failed him because just about everyone was back on heroin or pills. Destiny had all but died out inside the walls of Oz and so did the queen’s plans of conquering Em City.

Suddenly, sirens began blaring and Officer Murphy yelled over the intercom, “Lockdown! Lockdown! In your pods and be prepared to be counted. Lockdown! Lockdown!”

The prison suddenly became buzzing with inmates and hacks alike wondering what was going on. Sirens continued to scream and everyone scrambled to get to where they needed to be. Alvarez scooped up the cards and put them in his pocket before they both got up. He waited a moment to see that Vieyra had made it to his pod before he went up the stairs to be confined to his own. He tried to look for O’Reily, but the crowd was still too thick and hectic to make anything out.

After count, Em City had become much quieter, but there were still inmates yelling answers to the reason behind the lockdown. None of them knew what was going on and Alvarez sat on his bed to wait for an explanation. There was no use getting riled up when they could not leave their pods anyway. Torquemada had a nervous look on his face and the Latino ignored him as he continued to wait on his bed. He wanted to see if O’Reily knew anything about what was going on.

“Silence!” Querns said over the loudspeakers from the guard tower as McManus and Murphy stood near him. “Shut up, all of you!”

“Fuck you, Querns!” a random prisoner screamed out and others laughed.

“What the hell are we on lockdown for?” another yelled.

“Shut up!” Murphy said to regain attention.

“You animals will stay in your cages until I get a confession out of one of you for the murder of Chucky Pancamo,” Warden Querns said in a disgusted tone. “Lockdown will last for however long it takes. The choice is yours.”

Alvarez immediately sprung up at the news of Pancamo’s murder and he saw a saddened expression on Torquemada’s face. The queen had to be scared because his only partner had just been airholed. The Latino went over to the glass and looked out at the quad as Querns left Em City accompanied by McManus and two hacks. Surely, when he looked over to Pancamo’s pod, he was not there. Everything was going so fast and the murder only proved that he and O’Reily were right all along.

Although the prison was in lockdown, everything could happen as if it were normal. Everyone had to be on guard of the person in their pod and truly be for themselves. Alvarez grew worried about Vieyra’s safety and also about Ryan O’Reily. He knew that the latter could take care of himself though so it was useless to be worried about him. Alvarez looked down to his pod and finally saw O’Reily slyly looking up him through short glances. It was hard to tell with the other was thinking, but as they glanced at each other from opposite corners and floors of Em City, both men knew exactly what Pancamo’s death signified.


	35. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being swallowed into the deepest abyss of prison, two men experienced what they did not want to believe, lived each second as if it was their last, and felt what they could not possibly fathom as real.

**~*~** The events of this story will incorporate external added elements from the author’s imagination into the already rich and exhilarating canon narrative of the HBO original series, _Oz._ For the most part, the canon of the series will remain intact to preserve a sense of realism to the plot, while also being sensitive of the time flow of events occurring within Oz.

**~*~** Although the characters to be featured are prominently factual in their given genre, they are the sole property of Tom Fontana and Barry Levinson, and are copyrighted to Rysher Entertainment and HBO. All original characters are of the author’s creation and belong to him alone and, as with the rest of the story, may not be replicated or redistributed in any way without formal consent from said author.

**~*~** Underage reading or any other illegalities is neither encouraged nor condoned in any way by the author. He also will not tolerate any form of plagiarism towards any of the words to come, as they are his and his alone. The principal objective is that of enjoyment and entertainment to you, the reader.

**~*~** Address any type of question and/or feedback to  jc71883@hotmail.com, making sure to add a relation to the story on the subject line of the e-mail to guarantee its reception.

 

**Almost four years later…**

_**Subtle waves of summer winds** had sliced across his face as a boisterous motor had torn sound waves across the almost desolate mountain road. Few cars had passed by since his time on the road that went up the coast. The sun had adjusted itself nicely into the sky and the slightly cooler breezes only meant that another summer had almost come to an end. Reflections had bounced off his sunglasses and his eyes had occasionally caught the sprawling ocean low below him._

_The 1942 Indian motorcycle had roared to life as he revved it up and had continued along the winding road to where the outlook had been. It had once been his place to retreat to when he had wanted to be alone or cut off from the rest of the world. When he had been entrapped inside Oz, he had thought about it on different occasions. The freedom from that deranged place had hit him all at once and every single sense in his body had been overwhelmed._

_Miguel Alvarez had been set free from the maximum security prison that had claimed so many years of his life. The Latino had stepped off the motorcycle that had become his while he had still been incarcerated and had propped it up so that it stood by itself. He had removed his helmet and had rested it on the seat. The panoramic view that had stood before him had only reminded him of how much life he had missed while he had been locked up._

_It had been almost three weeks since he had been released and his life had evolved into a whirlwind of forgotten sensations and understanding of past transgressions. Being on the outside free and legally had affected him in ways he never thought had existed. No matter what, Alvarez had been determined never to take his freedom for granted again. It had always been too high a price to pay and he had come to realize how true that had been._

_His feet had stood firm on the floor and he had looked out from the side of the mountain at nothing in particular. The warm sunlight against his fair skin had almost tickled. The rays beating down on his short hair had made him want to remain there for as long as he could. With one of his signature armless shirts on, Alvarez had felt rays kissing as much of his skin as possible._

_Prison had changed him---changed the man he had wanted to be in life. He had been damaged and most had believed that he had been too damaged to be saved. But that had not gotten to him. None of them had known the internal struggles he had went through waking up every morning without having to yell out his number or constantly play the game to keep himself alive. None of them had known him._

_Alvarez had stood only a few feet away from his motorcycle on the alcove and had looked out to the horizon. As much as he had loved Maritza, he had never brought her there. She had not known that he had been a free man. No one in his family had known. The Latino had known that it had to be only a matter of time before he had to tell them, but he had not felt like dealing with them---especially his mother._

_It had still amazed him how far McManus, Sister Peter Marie, Dr. Nathan, and Father Mukada had gone to make his freedom possible. With an intensive investigation demanded by McManus, Sister Pete, and Father Mukada, Luís Ruiz had been exposed for his prejudiced ways and unfair professional treatment of inmates like Miguel Alvarez. The state had its back to the wall, so they had to launch a formal investigation into Ruiz’s unethical abuse of power._

_“Why aren’t you excited, Miguel?” McManus had asked him in the privacy of his office._

_“It’s the same shit. An investigation ain’t going to do anything for me. The state doesn’t give a fuck about our rights.”_

_“You have to remain positive, Miguel,” Father Mukada had said. “This is the crucial first step to proving that you are right about Luís Ruiz.”_

_“If you say so. I know better than to get my hopes up. Especially in Oz.”_

_“It’s not fair how Ruiz is discriminating against you. This investigation will prove him unfit to preside over your parole hearing. Don’t give up yet, Miguel,” the unit manager had said._

_“I never gave up. I’ve been in this shithole for years and have had to fight for respect and my life every goddamn day. The parole board don’t see that though. They only see all the shit I have to do to protect myself. All the fights I’ve been in. All the people I’ve killed. Whether Ruiz is on the parole board or not, I’m not going anywhere. Oz is my fucking life,” he had said to them both._

_“You’re looking at this wrong,” McManus had said. “Ruiz is the reason your parole hearings haven’t been successful. If you take him out of the equation, then you could have a chance of being paroled. Provided you stay out of trouble.”_

_“Reflect on what has happened, Miguel,” the priest had said. “This could be your chance to be a free man once again. Isn’t that worth pursuing?”_

_“Miguel, this is an opportunity most of the inmates in here would crave. Don’t waste it because of Ruiz and what he’s trying to do to you. Follow through with the investigation and answer all the questions they ask you. You could stop him from wrongfully profiling other Latino inmates because of his personal biases.”_

_“I ain’t looking to be nobody’s hero, McManus,” he had said._

_“Maybe not. But look how hard he made it for Gio Vieyra to be released. And he was only in here for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”_

_Hearing the kid’s name had brought some semblance of a smile inside him. He had been paroled a few months ago, even through Ruiz’s circus of a parole hearing. While incarcerated, he had gotten wiser to the ways of the street and himself. Still, none had known that Alvarez and O’Reily together had looked out for him and had kept him out of El Cartel’s grasp. It had been a personal good deed that the Latino had been proud of himself for. He had been able to deliver on a positive promise for once. Vieyra had escaped Oz with his life after Alvarez’s word that he would look after him._

_“Ruiz treated the kid like shit. He didn’t deserve that,” Alvarez had replied with bitterness. “The kid never shot or stabbed or killed anyone like the rest of the fucks in here. He was a goddamn saint in this pisshole.”_

_“That’s why you have to remain positive about this investigation into Ruiz’s behavior,” Father Mukada had said. “So that someone else like Gio Vieyra won’t have to deal with Ruiz’s bitter ways.”_

_What they had said had been true, but Alvarez had been tired of the many disappointments in his life. Even if the investigation had proved that Ruiz had let personal feelings interfere with his job, it had still been a long shot of him being released. Oz had caused him to do too many fucked up things to be let back out into public. The Latino had been tired of all the politics and had just wanted to serve his time and get the hell out. If he had given up, then his life would have been forfeit._

_The war had happened without the hacks knowing much about it. After Pancamo’s death, chaos had descended into every crevice of the prison. The fags, the Latinos, and the homeboys had fought each other for the power of control. Without Pancamo, most of the Italians had distanced themselves from Torquemada and had found a new leader to replace the juicehead. Their numbers had been smaller though because El Norte had went on a killing spree and had taken out a few wops._

_Alvarez and O’Reily had navigated as best they could while all the secret killings had been going on. Neither the hacks nor the warden had known that the men of El Norte had been behind most of the slain Italians because El Cartel had made sure that his men had come out with clean hands. The inmates had known that he had been responsible for Pancamo’s death, but no one had proof of the action._

_The muscled Italian’s stomach had been repeatedly slashed open and he had been left in the storage closet by the mailroom to bleed out and die. Blood had been splashed all across the walls and his guts had poured out onto the floor under his lifeless body. An officer walking by had noticed blood trickling out from under the door and that was when his body had been found. Lockdown had lasted five days until the warden had realized that no one was going to take the blame for Pancamo’s death._

_El Cartel had known how to play his hand, but Alvarez had seen through him. He and O’Reily had read the man and that was how they had been able to survive his rampage after the lockdown had been over. The Latino had to fight off three El Norte members because Calderón had finally gotten tired of the cat and mouse game between them. It had happened in the gym and Alvarez had suffered from a black eye, busted lip, bruised ribs, and a concussion after the attack. He had dodged the attacks by the shanks and had fought back the best he could._

_When he had been in the hospital, El Cartel had gone after Vieyra because he had been an easy target since the Latino had not been there to protect him. O’Reily, through his usual scheming and manipulations, had been able to keep the kid alive and safe without either him or Calderón ever knowing a thing. Their trust in each other had grown stronger since that had happened. The Irishman had kept Vieyra safe for Alvarez for a time when he had been unable to._

_Pancamo’s murder had left Torquemada desperate for control and obsessed with destroying El Cartel before he had ended up like the slain Italian. The melodramatic queen had approached Alvarez countless times to try and get an alliance between them. He had approached O’Reily separately as well and had even gone to Redding to keep himself from being eliminated from the game. It had been pathetic to watch and there had been some points where Alvarez had felt remorse for the man. But he had known better than to get involved with that queen again._

_After the Italians had abandoned him, he only had the fags left and their numbers had been as small as the Aryans had been after Keller’s anthrax bomb in the mailroom. The fags had never been a powerful group and deep down, Torquemada had known that he was dead in the water if he had not come up with some plan to save himself and regain the control he had thought was his. Destiny, however, had run its course inside the prison and he had been left powerless without most of the men he had at his disposal when Pancamo had been alive._

_When he had realized that he had no options left, the prissy queen had called a meeting with El Cartel in the classroom and it had resulted in him being almost fatally stabbed by the warlord. The conversation had gotten heated between the two and then a fight had broken out and had ended with a shank being stuck into the side of Torquemada’s stomach. The hacks had quickly broken both men apart as both Alvarez and O’Reily had looked on from different perspectives in Em City._

_The fag had been in a medically- induced coma for almost a month because the blade had punctured one of his kidneys and he had suffered from partial failure. There had been some irony there because both Alvarez and O’Reily had to take care of him while he had been confined to the hospital ward. The Irishman had hated it so much, but had done it because he had not wanted to compromise his job. He had Alvarez had done most of their planning there since eluding the hacks had became even harder than ever before._

_Calderón had been sent to the hole for an entire month for the attack. El Norte had remained in a holding pattern until their leader had return to reclaim them and continue with his tyranny. Alvarez had known that O’Reily had been disappointed that Torquemada had not been airholed, but had been pleased that the prissy queen had seemingly lost all his standing inside Oz. Destiny had never made a comeback and he had not been able to accomplish much with the small group of fags he had control over._

_In the months following the attack on Torquemada, El Cartel and Redding had come to some arrangement about the tit trade. The Irishman had told him that the two leaders had partnered up and had split the customers and profits in half amongst themselves. Together, the Latinos and the homeboys had the biggest partnership and drug ring inside the prison, and Calderón and Redding sucked in all the profits. They had been a force to be reckoned with, but O’Reily had known that there had not been any trust between either men. The partnership had been a mere formality to keep the other in check and from getting too powerful._

_The Latino had known for a fact that Calderón had wanted Redding out of the way and control over the niggers. Nothing had ever come of it though and business between them had still continued. He and O’Reily had made sure through their manipulations that the partnership between Calderón and Redding had been preserved because the balance it had brought into Oz had been what they had wanted. It had been essential that no one had supreme power inside the prison---especially the El Norte leader._

_El Cartel had never stopped in his pursuit of the rogue Latino. On separate occasions, there had been escalated emotions between them, but Alvarez had always managed to keep him at bay. He and O’Reily had managed to protect Gio Vieyra up until his release. Calderón had not been able to get his dirty hands on the kid to drag him down to hell. Getting to know Vieyra and getting him out safe had meant a great deal personally to Alvarez._

_Outside of his head, Alvarez had noticed that the sun had begun its descent under the horizon. The day had slipped away from him, but he had needed the time here to clear his head and to try to shed all the emotional baggage he had stored up from being imprisoned. One beautiful afternoon at his favorite spot had not done it all though. Not even close. Expecting everything to be resolved in his head had been a delusional pipe dream._

_Night had fallen and he had been back on his motorcycle to head back to his house. He had become a homeowner. Regardless of the circumstances that had surrounded it, Miguel Alvarez had risen up out of the rut of prison and had a house that had legitimately been his to go to. The feeling had been amazing to have a place for himself. Cutler had been crazy for giving up the house the way he had. The Latino still had not known the reasoning behind the Nazi’s actions and had given up trying to figure it out. There had been no going back now, with Cathy Jo Cutler’s slaying on orders from Schillinger._

_He had come back down the mountainous road and had decided to stop at a bar on the outskirts of town for a drink. His engine had come to a silent halt and he had gotten off shortly after and had entered the bar. Alvarez had made his way through the almost packed bar and had grabbed a stool to sit on. A slight bout of his claustrophobia had flared up because of how many people had been around him. He had closed his eyes to get a moment of reprieve._

_“What’ll it be?”_

_“Huh? Oh---vodka and cranberry. No rocks,” he had snapped out of his mind and had said._

_The bartender had returned shortly with the drink and the Latino had taken a big gulp before he had looked around the crowded bar. People had been grinding against each other or drinking and smoking or shooting pool. He had turned back around and had rested his elbows on the bar and his head had hung a little low. He had thought about what his next move was going to be. There had been a substantial amount of money in the bank from Cutler’s estate---he had yet to touch a cent of it. Alvarez had known that he had needed a job. He had needed something positive to occupy his time._

_“Hi, handsome,” a buxom woman had walked up to him and had said. “You drinking alone?”_

_“Was trying to,” had been the dry response._

_“You want company?” she had asked and had sat on the stool next to his before he had a chance to answer. “Haven’t seen you in here before. You new in town, sugar?”_

_“Don’t fucking call me that!” Alvarez had snapped and had said to her. “Don’t call me that.”_

_“Okay---okay. That’s a nice hog you got outside.”_

_“You checking for me?”_

_“No. Nothing like that,” the woman had said and had smiled. “I was outside when you pulled up. I’m Priscilla.”_

_“I’m not interested,” the Latino had said, had gulped down the remnants of his drink, and had walked away._

_“Well, fuck you, then!” she had sneered when he had walked away._

_He had been in no mood to entertain the slut at all. Alvarez had known that he was only looking for trouble if he had dealt with any woman right now. He had to get his head in order first before he could think of inviting someone into his fucked up life. The motorcycle had breathed life and he had sped off soon after. His sexual appetite had been surprisingly low since he had become a free man. Streetlights had guided him to the place that had become his home._

_The house had been maintained well and had been a spacious three-bedroom one. It had a decent size front and back yard and a one-car garage. Alvarez had felt guilty the first time he had stepped into the house because of Cathy Jo Cutler. It had been because of him that she had died. Schillinger had ordered the hit, but she had associated herself with him and had ended up paying the ultimate price for it._

_In the shower, water had dripped down from his short hair and had gone past his naked body to the tub floor. It had been so long since he had taken a shower by himself. Now he had actual private time to clean himself without the eyes of other inmates or hacks constantly on him. Everything had been an adjustment because they had been subtracted from his life for so long. The warm water had made him feel alive again. He did not know how it had been possible, but the water in Oz had been harder than what had currently covered his skin._

_The bed had been one of the bigger changes he had experienced since his extraction from Oz. The mattresses in the prison had been nothing more than padded cinderblocks that had never been disguised to be something comfortable. He had completely forgotten what a true bed was supposed to feel like against his body and what it was supposed to do for his mind. Sensations had overwhelmed and overpowered all of his senses at once. It had him confused, but desperate for more._

_Alvarez had rested on the new bed he had bought for his master bedroom and had looked up at the ceiling high above him as he thought. Sheets and a soft blanket had caressed his naked upper torso, as the pillow underneath his head had seemed to be made for him. The Latino had rubbed his eyes and yawned as he had continued to look up above him. He had remembered one of his last conversations with Ryan O’Reily. The same one he had thought about every night since his release. Everything had happened so fast that there had been no real chance to talk._

_“Shit---shit,” O’Reily had quickly slipped passed the door and had slammed it shut. “I just barely evaded a hack. It’s fucking getting impossible to meet.”_

_“I know why they’re on edge,” Alvarez had said._

_“Tell me.”_

_“Calderón tried to whack Torquemada again.”_

_“What the fuck? When? Why didn’t I hear about this out there? Is he gone?” the Irishman had asked and he had sat on the floor._

_“It just happened. No---he’s alive. McManus is moving him to gen pop. That’s why the hacks are all over the place. Making sure nothing else is happening under their noses.”_

_“We should get out of here then. It’s too risky right now.”_

_“I don’t think so. Not yet.”_

_Alvarez had gotten down to his knees and had moved in between the other man’s legs for their bodies to be closer together. He had placed a sensual kiss on O’Reily’s lips because it had been denied for far too long. Their last meeting had not taken place in weeks because Oz had been in a crazy and unruly state. The kiss had gotten so much better since they had started doing it. Alvarez had the passive ability of taking more and more of his breath away._

_“Not a good idea. Not now,” O’Reily had nervously said. “We could get caught---especially with all the shit going on out there.”_

_“We won’t, víbora. It’s been so long since we had a meet.”_

_“You know why that is. We have to throw Calderón off our trail. If that fucker keeps digging, he could find out about the partnership.”_

_“Fuck him!” Alvarez had replied with no remorse. “If he does find out some shit, we’ll just have to kill him.”_

_“You say that like it’s so easy.”_

_“It’s not easy. But we have the resources between us to get it done. Don’t sweat him.”_

_“That would fuck up the balance to the tit game, Miguel.”_

_“Say my name again, Irish.”_

_“Fuck you. This is serious and you’re playing games.”_

_“It’s been too long,” Alvarez had said again._

_The Latino had used his lips to kiss under the other man’s jaw and neck without too much of a protest. No matter how messy things had gotten in Oz, it had never stopped them from making plans or finding the moments to remind each other just how much the partnership had meant. O’Reily had clenched up at first, but had relaxed into the touches and small kisses. It had been fucking too long since they had the time to do this. His body had responded too quickly---too hungrily._

_“You happy to see me, baby?” he had whispered into O’Reily’s ear as he had felt his stiffening dick through his pants._

_“Don’t call me baby,” he snapped._

_“You’re in a mood. That’s why we’re here. I know you missed me.”_

_“No. We’re supposed to be plotting to keep our asses alive,” the Irishman had said only the partial truth. “Everything’s going to shit out there. That’s why we’re here.”_

_“We’ve kept ourselves alive all these years without any of these dumbfucks ever figuring out our arrangement. Planning can wait.”_

_“Alvarez, you’re crazy.”_

_“That’s why you call me loco, víbora,” Alvarez had smirked and said._

_“Calderón got a one way trip to the hole?” O’Reily had asked and his hand had unconsciously gone to touch the Latino’s crotch._

_“Until Querns thinks he’s no longer a threat,” he had said and had slightly moaned. “Touch me, Irish.”_

_“The warden’s a fucking moron. Calderón won’t stop being a threat, but he can’t keep him in the hole forever.”_

_“In a way, you got what you wanted. Torquemada’s gone.”_

_“Would’ve preferred him airholed,” O’Reily had said. “Who’s taking over his part of the tit trade while he’s in the hole?”_

_“The new guy that came in a few weeks ago,” Alvarez had said and had tilted more into the touch. “Must’ve been one of his generals on the outside.”_

_“Fuck! That means he’s still controlling things.”_

_“He’s a fucking power-hungry warlord, O’Reily. You think a trip to the hole would force him to give up his power/ Shit’s going to continue just as normal until he gets back.”_

_He had loosened the string that had bound the Irishman’s pants to his waist and had reached inside his boxers to feel the warm and hardening flesh. His hand had wrapped around the hard member and had brought it out and away from the confines of clothing. Their lips had locked back in a deep kiss as O’Reily had worked on loosening the other man’s button and zipper. The touches and warmth between their bodies had been like a slice of life again---the sensation of a half-life inside the barren wasteland of Oz._

_“Suck me, loco,” he had said when their lips had slightly broken away._

_“Only if you return the favor.”_

_“You’re on the floor.”_

_“Anything you want, baby,” Alvarez had softly kissed him and had grinned._

_“I told you not---”_

_“Yeah, yeah. Kill me later.”_

_Alvarez had rested his clothed back against the prison floor and had shifted his body up and down to get more of his pants down. O’Reily had crawled over him and had given a half smile before he had gone down for a kiss. Hands had roamed forbidden places while tongues had pulsated exhilarated pleasures through their blood. It had still been something uncomfortable at times, but their bodies had always acted for them. There had been no labels attached to what had been between them._

_It had not mattered that Calderón had the slightest suspicion about them being allies. It had not mattered that Torquemada had once unknowingly driven a wedge between them. Both had managed to move past that and had managed to keep the partnership intact and completely secret from everyone inside Oz. That was the only kind of partnership worth having. And the extra benefits package that had come along with their unknown affiliation, although still awkward, had been a welcome release from the pent up sexual frustration Oz had been known to capture._

_A hot mouth had engulfed his dick and the loco Latino had been happy that they were no longer talking about business. Now had been the time to give in to their bodies’ desires of being touched and feeling human again. Oz had robbed them of so much, but stealing these little moments had made it almost seem worth it. Alvarez had licked the base of O’Reily’s pulsing head as if it had been his favorite cherry lollipop. The sudden shivers on his skin had told him that he had been doing a good job._

_A part of the Irishman had still hated that another man could be able to bring him so much pleasure, but his lust for human contact had blinded him to any residual feelings of shame or disgust. Alvarez’s Latin manhood had been in his mouth more times than he had wanted, but it had come with the territory of them having an extra benefits package attached to their thriving partnership._

_None of the other stupid fucks in here had ever known what had been going on between them for the past years. A few, like El Cartel and Torquemada, once had their sneaking suspicions about Alvarez and O’Reily being partners, but nothing else. No one had known anything and the sneaking around and keeping everything low had brought with it some pleasure in itself. It had been a thrill and jolt to both their senses. It was yet another thing that had managed to make them feel alive in a place that had managed to rob it from them._

_Alvarez had swirled his tongue around the head of O’Reily’s dick in an effort to bring him the maximum amount of pleasure possible. Being with a man had been so different from being with a woman, but the intricacies of intimacy and bodily pleasures had mostly felt the same. A warm body to be next to inside Oz had been forbidden, but the two partners had managed to find it to release tension and keep their heads focused on staying alive._

_His tongue had swathed and teased the Irishman’s sensitive head and it had elicited a moan, much to his delight. The two men that had sworn to themselves that nothing sexual with any inmates was going to happen while they were incarcerated had broken their promises. Neither had regretted the steps the partnership had taken. Though they never had nor would they ever admit it to the other. The comfort had gone a long way to keep Alvarez’s mind emotionally stable and, in increments, had allowed O’Reily to cope with the deaths of his brother and father._

_For the Latino, it had been about closeness. It had first been about a way to feel again, when he had thought that his body could no longer experience any sensations but inflicted pain and emotional torment. O’Reily’s hot and wet mouth had cocooned his throbbing manhood and had his body on sensory overload. As the partnership grew, the víbora had used his tongue for more than deceptions and mind-fucking._

_“Shit, loco. That feels so good,” he had mumbled out._

_“Yeah, papa. Uhh. You too.”_

_He had still been as adamant as ever about getting what he wanted but, on rare occasions, he had shown Alvarez a different piece of the enigma that had made up Ryan O’Reily. He had, and would always be, a devious son of a bitch, but Alvarez had gotten past that and to know the man behind the webs that so many of the dumbfucks had gotten caught with in here. The deceit, plotting, and mischievousness had only complemented his natural Irish charm. And the crafty Irish bastard easily had more than enough charm to match his overblown ego._

_Alvarez had licked the underside of his shaft and had used his fingers to massage his balls. He had known that the Irishman’s sense of pleasure had heightened when his balls were played with as his dick was being sucked. Almost instantly, O’Reily had begun pulsing in his mouth more than before. The Latino had suck deeper and harder to illicit more moans and grunts. Having O’Reily making such delicate of sounds had been sweet to his ears and had always given him a twist of pleasure. He had felt himself getting close to release._

_O’Reily had sucked and licked the on the first few inches of the other man’s dick as his own rod had been sensually pleasured as well. The loco Latino had come to be the only person he had trusted inside the walls of the prison. His brother Cyril’s death at the hands of the state had still not completely healed inside him. That had only compounded with the death of his father. Oz had taken both men from him and had driven his mother away. Alvarez had become his only lifeline---though he had no intention of ever letting him know that._

_“Damn, Irish. Don’t stop,” Alvarez had said. “Keep going. Suck me. I’m close.”_

_“Fuck! Me too. Keep doing that thing with your teeth.”_

_Alvarez had smiled to himself and had gently grazed his teeth against the throbbing head of O’Reily’s dick. He had been extra sensitive in that spot and had liked the almost rough sensation against his tender flesh. He had only barely removed his mouth when the Irishman’s body convulsed and he had begun shooting cum from his overly pleasured dick. He had grunted and moaned and had rested on Alvarez’s body as he had continued to suck on his dick._

_It had not been long after that Alvarez had reached his own climax and had felt like he had been flying with ocean winds caressing his face. He had wanted so badly to escape and run his toes through warm sand and feel ocean waves on his skin. O’Reily had oddly placed a kiss right below his bellybutton before they had to get up and clean up the mess they had made. The Latino had given him a weird look when they had been putting their clothes back on._

_No one had been close to touching them or the partnership. As far as most of the fucks had known, Miguel Alvarez and Ryan O’Reily had been on neutral grounds with one another. Neither had been interested in the affairs or movements of the other nor had they any animosity in public. Both men had known the importance of keeping their distance from one another, but had also known not to make it appear that they had been trying too hard to keep out of the other’s way. It had been the fine line that both had navigated carefully for years._

_“What’s with the look?” O’Reily had caught him with the strange look and had asked._

_“What look?”_

_“I saw you, Alvarez. Spill it.”_

_“Nothing, man. You think Torquemada will stop trying to control Oz now that he’s in gen pop?” the Latino had deflected and said._

_“Fuck no. That fag has some sick obsession with controlling this place. D-tabs will still be in circulation. It won’t be strong as the tit trade, though. He’s washed up. The sooner that bitch realizes that, the better for all of us.”_

_“Hey---he’s out of Em City. Calderón made sure of that. You don’t have to worry.”_

_“I’m not worried,” the Irishman had defensively said. “I know what you’re thinking. Fucking don’t.”_

_“You’ve always been a good mind reader, víbora. You want to try again?” Alvarez had become serious and said._

_“Testing my skill? You haven’t learned?” he had smirked and said. “I saw you talking to McManus and the Padre. Something going on with Ruiz?”_

_“You saw that, huh? Guess you’re not losing your touch.”_

_“What did they say?”_

_“I’m going to make this clear. If you fuck with my chances of making parole, I’ll take you apart myself. You hear me?” the loco Latino had roughly said to make sure his point had been received._

_O’Reily’s defenses had immediately kicked into overdrive and he had replied, “Wow---what the fuck, Alvarez? You think after all we’ve done in here---all the shit that happened between us, I’d do that to you?”_

_“You bet your sweet Irish ass I do. I know how you operate.”_

_The realization had hit him hard and he had said, “You never trusted me---did you?”_

_“If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Just letting you know where I stand.”_

_“And where you want me to stand? Fuck you and your parole!”_

_“I forgot. It’s too fucking much to ask Ryan O’Reily to think about anyone but himself,” Alvarez had aggressively said._

_He had not wanted the conversation to be an angry one, but he had to be forceful to make his point. O’Reily had been the only one he had trusted in this cumhole, but he had known firsthand how twisted the other man’s thought process had been. Alvarez had turned his back and had looked away as he had thought of the next thing to say. He had trusted the Irishman, but there had never been any real boundaries between them. The point had to be made clear so that the line was drawn in the sand._

_The Latino had not even been sure that the conversation had been valid. The chance of him making parole, even with Ruiz’s slimy fingers far away from his case had been a long shot still. He had believed that O’Reily would not do anything to jeopardize his chances of getting out, but he had to say it to be sure. McManus and Father Mukada had remained the eternal optimists, though. All he had wanted was for everything to be clear between them._

_“Fuck you, Alvarez!” O’Reily had spat back. “You piece of shit.”_

_“Listen to me. You do anything to fuck up my chances of parole and I find out, I’ll fucking kill you myself. You got that?” the Latino had turned back around and had to get his point across._

_“Not if I kill you first.”_

_“I’m just trying to make a goddamn point.”_

_“If you don’t make parole, that won’t be my fault, motherfucker,” the Irishman had nastily said. “You have a way of fucking these things up on your own.”_

_“Not this time. I’m getting out of this shithole.”_

_“If you’re so fucking sure then why are we having this conversation? Why are you threatening me?”_

_“Oh no, you crafty bastard,” Alvarez had slightly laughed and had said. “You’re not getting in my head.”_

_“Wasn’t aware I could anymore,” the Irishman had continued to play his game._

_“Don’t take my warning lightly. Getting out is going to happen for me.”_

_“If you say so.”_

_Alvarez had shot him a hard look and had left the small room behind with his mind being slightly tilted. He had wanted to believe, and a big part of him had, that Ryan O’Reily was not going to interfere with his parole chances. But he had known and had been involved with the slick Irishman for years---not having some doubts would have been a stupid mistake he had chosen not to ignore. The line had been drawn in the sand and boundaries had been made. The Latino had quietly made it back to Em City to wait for any new words about his case. The chance had been slim, but there had been a chance. Most of the other fucks in here had no opportunities, so their lives had been resolved to Oz. He had done his time and it had been long overdue for him to restart his life._

_His eyes had reopened and he had been greeted with darkness but also some light from beyond the bedroom windows. That had been their very last encounter because, four days later and at the suggesting of Father Mukada, Alvarez had been placed in Solitary to be isolated from the rest of the prison population. The state had fired Ruiz for his biased practices on quite a few inmates over the years. The new head of the parole board had reviewed his case and had rendered his fair judgment of Miguel Alvarez._

_The Latino had shifted on his bed and had felt the warm and soft blanket caress his naked upper torso. He had ultimately regretted his last conversation with O’Reily. There had been hardly any chance to take back some of his nasty words because everything had happened so quickly afterwards. Calderón had even condemned one of his lackeys to Solitary to try to kill him. The El Norte leader had not been happy about his impending release. He had wanted him permanently attached to Oz or leaving in a coffin._

_Now that he had been out, Alvarez had to get a job and push his life past his time spent in Oz. The first few days he had been released, he had hit up any bars he could and had slept with quite a few women. None had even been close to his standards, but he had fucked them anyway. Sometimes in the bar’s bathroom, or in a dark corner, or even in dark alleys behind the bars. He had never brought any of them to his house. None of those bitches had been worthy enough for that. The Latino had to recapture his manhood and these loose women had been the easiest way to do so._

_A very small part of him had missed certain things about Oz, though. Dr. Nathan’s always warm hands when she had examined him. Father Mukada’s pure compassion for him, even after all his stumbles and missteps. He had finally accepted that the priest had some special feelings for him. Whether or not they had been sexual, he would never know. Even McManus had turned out to be on his side and had ultimately helped him get paroled. Alvarez had secretly promised himself upon walking out of Oz as a free man that he would never go back there. As an inmate or otherwise._

_His mind had also wondered if Ryan O’Reily had kept himself solo or if he had plans to get another partner. Despite everything they had done to each other, the partnership had been a thriving success because they both had survived Torquemada’s and El Cartel’s wrath. They had kept each other’s backs safe without anyone ever knowing a thing. The Irishman had always been able to survive on his own. No one in the entire prison had been on his level of making things happen or disappearing things that had to go away. Alvarez had not been worried about him._

_That same small part of him that had missed a few aspects of Oz had missed him. He had not fully understood it, but it had been somewhere there inside him. Through the twists and turns, they had become friends and had helped each other through some of the most desperate times in their lives. Alvarez had been there for him when Seamus O’Reily had died and his brother Cyril had been executed. And the Irishman had offered him human touch that had kept his body going---had been its only fuel at times. Touches that had made them both alive again._

_Since his release, Miguel Alvarez had not been back inside Oz. If he had gone back, inmates and staff alike would have put the pieces together and have figured it out._

 

**The End**


End file.
